


9 to 5

by thesecretmichan



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Bullying, Depression, Everybody is crazy run away while you still can, F/M, Homophobia, Incest, Kids are shitheads, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, QSA: Queer/Straight Alliance, Secret Relationship, Teachers!AU, though only legally I guess?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-08
Updated: 2012-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 11:31:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 43,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/454962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesecretmichan/pseuds/thesecretmichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to Erskine Memorial High School! The teachers are... somewhat eccentric, but despite what anyone else has told you, they're the best of the best. If you can keep up with Mr. Stark and Ms. Romanoff's lectures, you'll pass any and every test with flying colors. Mr. Barton will always write you a hall pass if you need one and Mr. Rogers has no less than six American flags in his classroom. Dr. Banner always has a simple and efficient way to explain the curriculum, Coach Odinson will run laps with you and cheer you on the entire time, and Mr. Laufeyson hates everybody. Principal Fury and Assistant Principal Coulson rule the school with an iron fist and poor Peter Parker is just trying <i>not</i> to get trampled by the students.  - <i>ON HIATUS, pending rewrite</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Errybody is Crazy and Peter is Going to Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Teachers!AU set in a High School setting and looking to be my longest fic yet. Many, many thanks to my wonderful betas [Sequoia](http://1984yearsforameliapond.tumblr.com) and [Roxy](http://tinypirateinvasion.tumblr.com) for putting up with all my crazy bullshit questions and never-ending naggings 8V Ilu guys ♥  
> Also, the original idea for this fic was based off [this post](http://montypythonandtheholyblog.tumblr.com/post/25268854265/au-where-all-the-avengers-are-teachers-tonys) on tumblr. It sort of scooted off on a major tangent, but regardless, thank you for letting me use it, Emma!

Peter was late.

Not to say that this wasn't a regular occurrence -- the day that Mary Jane and Harry stopped teasing Peter about his habitual tardiness would probably be the day that the earth split in two -- it was just that Peter had picked the absolute _worst_ day in the history of forever to be late:

His first day of student teaching.

Peter hopped nervously from foot to foot, trying to stare at everything but the woman in front of him typing his information on the computer.

"First day?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow. Peter started. "You're trying to get your teaching certificate in Physics, right?"

"Yes, ma'am," Peter answered and snuck a peek at her nameplate. "I'm sorry, Ms. Van Dyne; I don't mean to rush you or anything."

"Janet is fine," she laughed and handed Peter his guest badge. "And you're fine. Though if I may offer you some advice?"

"Yeah?" Peter clipped the badge to his belt loop, smile only slightly uneasy.

"Don't let Mr. Stark scare you off." Janet's eyes crinkled at the corners. "His teaching methods are a little unorthodox, but he's the best AP Physics professor we've ever had."

"Oh, um," Peter coughed to clear his throat and pulled a real smile on, "thank you, Ms--Janet."

She matched his grin, relinquishing the rest of his personal documents and handing him a candy out of the dish on her desk. "Welcome to Erskine Memorial, Peter Parker."

"Thanks," Peter said gratefully and promptly walked into a door.

"Sorry." A woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun released her hold on the handle and stalked in, heels clicking sharply on the tile.

"Oh, Maria, don't be mean to the new fish," Janet giggled, shooting an apologetic look to Peter. "She's always extra testy on the first day of classes, sorry."

"And that was...?" Peter looked in the direction she went, still rubbing the side of his face.

"Maria Hill," Janet supplied, popping a butterscotch disc in her mouth. "She's the dean here."

"You guys only have one dean?" Peter wondered aloud, following her cue and unwrapping his own little candy.

Janet shrugged. "You know, budget cuts and all."

"I'm the only dean the students need here," Maria affirmed, coming back out a random door with a thick stack of slips. "I will put the fear of god in these out-of-dresscode delinquents," she promised darkly, striding out of the office with a vicious grin.

"Should I let her scare me off?" Peter joked, clutching his things to his chest and scurrying out at Janet's contrite laugh.

***

"Mr. Stark?" Peter called, sticking his head in the classroom.

It was empty.

Peter frowned, checked the clock on the wall, then his watch. There was still about fifteen minutes before the students were due in for homeroom. "Is anybody in here?" he continued; Peter checked the room number. Had he written it down wrong?

"Hello?" Peter sang, stepping in and peering around the classroom. "Mr. Stark?" he tried again, circling around and trying for the office. That was empty, too.

"Crap," Peter hissed.

A gentleman with dark, curly hair and wearing glasses entered the office through the other door. "Oh, hello there," he smiled. He extended his hand. "You must be Tony's new TIT. I'm Dr. Banner -- Bruce."

Peter took the man's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Peter Parker," he introduced. "Er, TIT?"

"Teacher-in-training," Banner elaborated, grabbing his mug from the desk and taking a sip. He chuckled a bit. "Tony just likes to call them 'tits'. He's sort of terrible with things like that."

"You don't, ah, happen to know where he is do you?" Peter asked, still a little uneasy, and that's when Tony Stark burst in from Dr. Banner's classroom, shouting, "Honey bear, you won’t _believe_ what I've just made!"

Tony paused at seeing Peter, then burst into a full grin. "You must be my new bitch!" he crowed and clapped him on the shoulder. 

"What?" Peter squeaked, voice cracking.

"Oh yeah, this is awesome, perfect, amazing. Listen newbie, I gotta make a Starbucks run -- the stuff is shit here, you know? -- so if you wouldn't mind just babysitting my little homeroom kiddies till I get back, that would be just peachy keen, Petey; can I call you Petey? Anyway, I should totally be back before first period, no need to worry, thanks buddy, you're the best, see ya!" Tony skipped out, flashing peace signs.

"Um. What?" Peter stood there in the door of Bruce and Tony's conjoined office, jaw dropped as students began slowly filing in. Peter stared at the kids blankly, wondering if he'd really been that small as a (Peter checked his notes) freshman.

Then one of the little brats opened up his mouth and drawled, "You're not Mr. Stark. Who the hell are you?"

Yep. Peter was going to die.

***

Tony parked his sexy, fancy car back on campus, hung up his "You break my car, I break your knees" sign, and grabbed his cupholders full of yummy drinks, elbowing the door shut behind him. Tony clicked the lock button on his keychain and strolled into the front office, dropping down a cup on Fury's desk.

"Stop leaving campus during classes, Stark," Principal Fury growled, grabbing up the beverage anyway.

"Hey, no worries Fury: I got a little birdy watching my class for me," Tony grinned, balancing a cardboard tray in either hand. "Besides, freshies are so boring. Why can't you give me any seniors for homeroom?"

"It's first period, Stark. And because the freshmen are the only ones actually scared of you," Fury barked, setting his cup down. "I can only imagine the trouble you and a bunch of highschool seniors would get up to."

"That hurts, Fury, that really does," Tony simpered, twirling around and offering one arm to Janet. She beamed, accepting the paper cup appreciatively. "None for you, though, Coulson!" Tony shouted. Predictably, the man didn't answer, but Tony could still feel the man rolling his eyes in his office.

Tony made his rounds, first to A Hall to discreetly deposit a cup right inside Scary Natasha's door, then to B Hall to hand Clint one. Tony passed by the gym and waved to Thor (who apparently never drank coffee, the poor guy) and finally ended up in E Hall, right outside Steve Rogers' class.

He popped in, grinning widely. "Hi pumpkin pie," he cooed, taking great delight in the way the girls all giggled. "Coffee?"

Steve frowned and stepped back from the chalkboard (an actual, god-forsaken _chalkboard_ ). "Mr. Stark, I'm in the middle of going over my syllabus," he informed Tony, as if Tony himself wasn't already fully aware of what he was interrupting.

"So you don't want this glorious cup of coffee I hold in my hands?" Tony drawled, holding up the cardboard holder.

Steve sighed, grabbed a cup, and said, "Goodbye, Mr. Stark." He took a sip, the corner of his lip twitching up as he waved Tony off.

Tony winked and departed with a little twirl, making his way back to his own hall. When he strode into Bruce's class, Bruce held out his hand for a cup without even looking at Tony. Finally, Tony slunk through their office and into his own room so he could save Peter from making a ridiculous ass of himself.

He handed the stammering kid one cup and saved the last for himself. Tony swallowed a mouthful and hummed, eyes flickering to the clock. "Okay, we've got five minutes. Let's do this shit." He hopped up on his desk. "You kids give me your email addresses, I'll send you the syllabus, but it's really easy: I don't give out homework. I have better things to do with my time than grade your half-assed, did-it-on-the-bus bullshit. As such, tests are so freakishly difficult, you will cry and wet your pants, _but_ \-- on the off chance you can actually pass my class -- if you do well in here, you'll pass your AP test with flying colors. You can eat, you can drink, I don't care, but if I find shit on the floor, I will make you lick it up, because I am not your mommy. I pay people to clean up after me, why would I clean up after you?" Tony gulped down some more coffee, sighing sweetly. "Questions?"

One little dipshit (and this happened every-fucking-year) raised his hand and blurted, "Aren't you like, a billionaire, or something? Why are you a teacher?"

Tony always answered the same thing: "Because I love torturing little brats like you."

***

"So how you likin' Erskine so far?" Tony asked around a donut, walking in even step with Peter. Dr. Banner was at Tony's left, tapping quickly into his cell phone.

Peter shrugged, hands jammed in his pockets. "It's okay; there's just a lot more going on than I remembered when I was in highschool."

Tony snorted, checking his goatee for crumbs. "You're telling me. And I don't do jack around here. The first days are always screwy; it'll simmer down in a week or two." Tony led Peter past the cafeteria and down a random hall. "Teacher's lounge: tada!" he sang, pushing the door open. "Anyway, I normally take first lunch so I can hang out with my homies, lemme introduce you all. You've already met Bruce, of course." Tony gestured behind him at the man, who smiled indulgently at Tony. "Shorty over there's Clint. He teaches English and Creative Writing over on B Hall."

"I'm the same height as you, Stark," he piped up, turning a page in his book. He looked up then and offered Peter a friendly wave. "Clint Barton."

"Scary lady is Natasha Romanoff; she teaches like, fifty different languages and lives in the ceiling at A Hall." Tony pointed at the redhead sitting beside Clint.

"Five languages: Spanish and French in the fall, German, Latin, and an elective course in Italian in the spring," Natasha corrected, taking a sip of her coke. She raised an eyebrow at them. "I also know Russian."

"Impressive," Peter noted, grinning. "I'm Peter Parker."

The edges of her lips upturned ever so slightly. "Thank you. I go through the curriculum quite swiftly, though. Not many are brave enough to voluntarily take my classes."

Tony dragged Peter over to the table in the corner to two men opposite as night and day. "Big guy's Thor Odinson and tall, dark, and gothic over there is his brother Loki Laufeyson. Thor's like, the best gym coach ever and Loki teaches European History." Then Tony stage-whispered to Peter, "Don't ask why their last names are different, just roll with it."

Peter held out his hand. "Peter Parker."

Thor beamed instantly, nearly crushing Peter's hand in his massive grip. "Welcome to our humble lounge! It is an honor to have you here with us, Peter Parker."

Loki snorted at Thor's antics, but ignored Peter altogether.

"And speaking of history: Mr. All-American dream boat is Steve Rogers," Tony jerked a thumb over to the counter along the wall, where a tall blond was jamming his fingers to the buttons of a sorry-looking microwave. "He hates me."

"I don't hate you, Tony," he insisted, pulling his tupperware out of the death-trap. "You just don't act very professional in front of the students."

"Hey, my kids love me, thank you very much," Tony quipped, ungluing himself from Peter's side so he could make his way over to the fridge. "Besides, it doesn't matter how 'professional' I act; they're still going to be hormone-driven little monsters at the end of the day."

"If you'd just set a good example for them--" Steve started.

"If we turned around long enough, they'd start having sex against the lockers," Tony finished for him, laughing at the pink flush crawling up Steve's ears.

"The would not!" Steve insisted.

"They have," Loki sneered, twirling his noodles with a pair of chopsticks. 

"You bring anything to eat, kid?" Tony asked him then and Peter bit back a swear word. Tony nodded at the face he made. "Right, right, you were late. Apple?" he offered, opening up a scary large lunch box and tossing him a granny smith.

"Thanks," Peter smiled.

Maybe Peter wasn't going to die.

***

A paper ball hit Steve in the back of the head and Steve looked up to the ceiling and prayed -- honestly _prayed_ \-- that when he turned around, it would be a student that had thrown it.

Steve swivelled his head and glared into Tony's unapologetic grin.

"Steve, I had the _best_ idea for our next hangout," Tony started, holding up a slim tablet.

"I'm teaching, Mr. Stark." Steve pressed a finger to the back of Tony's shoulder and spun him around, pointing him towards the door. "You have a class, too, if I'm not mistaken."

"Pff, it's a power point, a drunken monkey could handle it -- Peter is handling it," Tony insisted indignantly.

"Goodbye, Mr. Stark," Steve told him firmly and closed the door in his face. "As I was saying, Christopher Columbus actually happened upon the Americas by accident; what he was looking for was an alternate route to Asia..."

Really, it wasn't that he hated Tony; on the contrary, Steve quite enjoyed his company -- as long as it wasn't during class. Tony had this irritating habit of interrupting his lectures for nothing more than to relieve his apparently neverending boredom. And when he wasn't doing that, Tony was skipping staff meetings, or mouthing off to Nick Fury, or hiding out in Bruce's classroom and building _weird_ things (Steve often considered telling him going next door didn't really constitute as 'hiding', but that was another battle altogether).

"--and following the fall of Constantinople in fourteen fifty-three, the land route to Asia had become increasingly perilous to travel, so--"

A soccer ball sailed through the open window and Steve scrambled over to it, aiming to catch it before it sent one of the kids to the hospital. Frowning, Steve hurled the checkered thing outside like one would pass a basketball. "Coach Odinson!" he admonished to the man currently jogging towards him.

"My apologies, Steven," Thor replied, slightly distressed. "Young Altman has a mighty kick, but his aim leaves much to be desired. I shall have words with him."

"You should have more than words," Steve attested, still stern-faced. "I really don't want one of my kids to get a concussion on the third day of classes."

"I shall strive to do just this," Thor promised, firmly grasping the soccer ball into one giant palm.

"Oh my god, why are the teachers so hot here? This is so fucking unfair," one of his female students hissed.

***

"Sir, I've got a student in here--" Janet popped her head in the door, her smile sympathetic.

"Send him to Coulson," Fury said with a tiny wave, still scrolling through his endless list of emails.

"She's one of Steve's kids," she grimaced and Fury let his face drop to the desk.

"Motherfucker," he hissed into the wood. "Send her in."

***

"Tony, what are you doing?"

"Nothing, sugar bean, whatever gave you that idea?" Tony wondered with wide eyes, straightening up and leaning casually against Bruce's desk.

"Uh huh," Bruce drawled. He circled around the desk, checking for booby traps. "I assume you've done something to my workspace?"

"No, _no_ ," Tony insisted, waving his hand in the air. "Just looking for a paperclip, gumdrop -- why are you so suspicious, jeez?"

Bruce slowly raised an eyebrow, but the grin he cracked broke his facade. "I'll find it, Tony. And then I'll sabotage your desk."

"You are so rude, so mean, Bruce, you hurt me deep in my heart, I'm going to teach my kids," Tony pouted, darting through their office. As soon as Tony was out of Bruce's hawkeye, he grinned evilly to himself, clapping a hand to Peter's shoulder. "Watch and learn how it's done, little proby."

Peter nodded swiftly and took out his notebook, pen at the ready.

Tony snorted, shutting down the projector as the bell signified the herding of the animals into his classroom. "Okay, AP Physics -- listen up!" he barked, strolling over to the front of the class. Tony snatched up a marker and began scribbling across the whiteboard. "What'd we do yesterday -- graphing shit, right? SOH CAH TOA?" Tony capped his marker and spun around, hurling it in the air. Fortunately, one of the kids caught it. "Kinematics: the study of motion in one dimension. Number one: Velocity. Think of velocity as speed, except velocity actually cares about the direction, that is the change in displacement as time passes -- gimme back my marker, Daniels. The equation for velocity looks like this and I swear this is the easiest thing you'll ever learn, so if you can't get this crap, feel free to stop by Ms. Munroe's class and tell her how you completely _fail_ at fifth grade division..."

Tony always talked a mile a minute, never pausing, never needing to stop for breath. It was almost as if he came with two gears: standstill and full throttle. Some students, he knew realistically, wouldn't be able to keep up. If they couldn't, it was all on them, though. Tony honestly couldn't give two fucks who hid their cells inside their jacket sleeves or slept through his monologues. If they wanted help, they could damn well ask for it themselves and if the kids wanted to pay attention and learn... well, they'd do that, too; Tony graduating from college at seventeen proved just that.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Peter watching the whole thing intently: from the way Tony switched from one topic to the next without so much as a hiccup, to the way he flopped over his desk and constructed multi-colored paper clip chains before circling back to the board to tie it all together.

When he'd reached a pause in his lesson, Tony dropped down into his chair and pulled his phone, tapping out a little winky face and sending it to Bruce. The he smiled wide, sat back, and waited for the magic to happen.

" _I like big butts and I cannot lie_ ," trickled in from Bruce's classroom and he shrieked, " _Tony_!" mid-lecture, followed by a loud crash and an impressive attempt at holding back every curse word known to man.

***

Loki, as he did everyday promptly at three, waved out his last period, sat down at his desk, and meticulously gathered all his things together. He took his time, ensuring every paper, every book, every little _thing_ was in its proper place. Loki did all these things because if he didn't, he would flip his desk and kill every single one of the unappreciative little demon spawns that ever stepped foot in his classroom.

It was _soothing_.

Loki inhaled deeply through his nose and sighed, slipping the strap to his messenger bag over his head and locking his classroom door on the way out.

And as he always did at three twenty-six, Loki paced down the hallway towards the faculty parking lot, one hand sliding up to tug at the tie around his neck. Loki unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and ran a hand through his hair; at three thirty exactly, he paused momentarily in the middle of the hall to grab his keys out of the front flap on his bag.

Except, instead of continuing on his merry way fifteen seconds later, what Loki had the pleasure of encountering was a stumbling, idiotic, _coccydynia_ of a tit smashing into him and sending Loki sprawling to the tile. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry, I didn't see you and I was running late, I'm so sorry," Peter babbled, crawling around on his hands and knees and gathering up all his things. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Laufeyson--"

"Don't," Loki ordered, holding up one hand to silence him. He laid there on the floor, closed his eyes, and just breathed.

Loki hated his life.

***

"Should we help them?" Clint asked Natasha quietly, staring somewhat horrified at the scene that unfolded before them.

"Nope," Natasha said pointedly. She tapped a finger to the frame of her glasses and patted Clint once on the shoulder. "Just turn around and walk away."

"Yeah, but shouldn't we--"

Thor sprinted by them, nearly skidding over both Loki and Peter. "Brother, are you alright?" he shouted in a voice that was always three decibels too loud.

Clint snapped his mouth shut. Then he hummed, "Right then. Bye Nat; see you tomorrow!"

Natasha flicked three fingers at Clint in a pseudo-wave, the corner of her mouth twitching as she stalked out the door.

***

Steve stared down at the near identical boxes of oatmeal in front of him. Huffing lightly, Steve asked himself, "Do I want flavored or original?"

"Go big: go for the multi-pack," Tony quipped, suddenly _in front of him_.

Steve yelped, both boxes flying through the air. Tony caught one of them, but the other suffered an untimely death at the hands of an unforgiving, crappily-tiled floor. He grinned sheepishly, offering the box to Steve.

"Thanks," Steve smiled lightly, edging away from the perished oatmeal box. He grabbed his cart. "Maybe we should leave before someone sees what you did."

"Woah, hey now," Tony interjected, nonetheless following him to the next aisle. "That was totally your bad -- all I did was offer my expert opinion."

Steve snorted and grabbed a bag of cookies from the shelf in front of him. "Yes, well, your expert opinion ended in the destruction of a cinnamon apple oatmeal box," he joked, contemplating going back to the other aisle to peruse the cereal selection. "How's your new student teacher working out for you, by the way?"

"Peter? Ah, he's great, fine, terrific, does all my work, doesn't even complain," Tony noted, flashing a smirk over at Steve. "I hear you already sent a kid to Fury."

"She cursed in the middle of my class!" Steve hissed, a tiny wrinkle appearing on his forehead. "I said precisely in the syllabus I don't tolerate foul language in the classroom."

Tony bit back his laugh. "That sounds real rough, Rogers. Anything else exciting happen or just the near hospital visit?"

"Only you would be interested in gossiping about potential injuries," Steve mused, shaking his head. Halfway through reaching for a box of crackers, Steve paused and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Tony. "Wait. Why are you at Costco?"

"I love Costco," Tony affirmed instantly. He nodded. "Oh yeah, I always shop at Costco -- totally buy all my," Tony looked around, face twisting into something incomprehensible, "f...ood? Here. Yeah. I buy my food here. And," Tony faltered, eyebrows raising to his hairline. "Sofas? Wait, what is this place?" Tony squawked. His jaw dropped in horror. "I don't understand."

"It's a bulk store," Steve said slowly, as if speaking to a five-year-old. "You buy groceries here."

"People buy their own groceries?" Tony said weakly, but before Steve could respond, Tony continued with, "Joke. That was a joke."

"What are you doing here, Tony?" Steve asked, drumming his fingers against the cart handle. 

"You wanna go out for coffee sometime?" Tony suggested, that familiar Stark smirk slipping back on his face. "Maybe dinner if you're feeling especially generous with your time?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "We do that all the time," he sighed.

"Yeah, but that's with the whole gang," Tony retorted. He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm talking about a date."

"Goodbye Tony," Steve smiled, patting his friend on the arm. "See you tomorrow morning."

***

"Friday morning, peeps!" Tony proclaimed, slamming an empty coffee can onto the table. Peter choked on his water. Snickering at his misfortune, Tony tapped on the tin, harping, "Come on, come on, hedge your bets, place your wagers!"

"What are we betting on?" Peter gasped, still trying to cough the water out of his lungs.

"When Clint and Natasha are going to get together," Ms. Munroe, the Algebra teacher, replied. She placed a five in the can. "Same as last week."

"You guys do that here?"

Tony raised an eyebrow over at Peter. "What do you think teachers do in our spare time?"

"Stark, _all_ you have is spare time," someone who Peter hadn't yet met joked; a few of the other teachers chuckled to themselves. "But I'm changing my wager: twenty says they'll be together before prom," she continued, crumpling up a bill and tossing it over to their table.

"Fifteen on Clint crashing and burning," a gruff man proposed, stuffing his money in the canister.

"This is all very juvenile," Steve noted as he handed Tony a small stack of ones. "Homecoming. Clint will ask her."

"Such a romantic," Tony teased, slipping the money in the pot. He turned to Peter and arched a brow. "What's your gamble, Petey?"

"What?" Peter's eyes widened. "Oh, I don't know them all that well and--"

"Bet," Tony ordered and Peter blurted, "Christmas party. Ms. Romanoff'll initiate it." He reluctantly pulled a ten out of his wallet.

"How do you know there's going to be a Christmas party?" Tony asked, eyeing him cautiously.

"Who doesn't have a Christmas party?" Peter joked a little feebly.

"They're coming," Loki mentioned, not bothering to look up from his folder full of papers.

Tony snapped the lid on the coffee can and tossed it under the table. "Any final bets?" he hissed and Bruce stuffed some money in his shirt pocket.

"My bet's still the same, as well," Bruce supplied, still sipping at his coffee.

True to Loki's word, Clint and Natasha arrived moments later. "Morning everyone!" Clint chirped, setting his lunch in the fridge. Natasha went immediately for the coffee pot.

She frowned suspiciously at it. "Who didn't clean the carafe before brewing a new pot?"

Bruce froze mid-swallow.

Natasha turned around then, eyeing everyone in the room. She zeroed in on the stench of guilt Bruce was emitting. "Bruce," she prompted.

"Who _actually_ washes that thing out anyway?" Bruce speculated, fingers tapping nervously against his cup.

"I do," Natasha confirmed, pursing her lips together. She sighed after a moment and grabbed herself a cup anyway. "I will remember this," she told Bruce firmly, filling a mug and stalking out.

"Yikes," Clint grimaced, snapping open the cap to his juice drink. "Her kids are gonna get a pop quiz."

"This school is crazy," Peter muttered to himself, staring down at his hands. "This school is honestly, legitimately crazy."

"You got it, bub," Tony verified, finishing off his own extra-large caffeinated beverage. He swatted Peter lightly. "C'mon, we got class."

***

And by 'we', Tony apparently meant 'just Peter'.

Peter stared out at the unimpressed, possibly hungover juniors and seniors before him. "Right," Peter coughed, straightening the notes before him. "Let's see how well you guys grasped the first chapter. Who can tell me about the slopes of these graphs?" He turned around to begin drawing said graphs and a paper ball hit him in the back of the head. Peter closed his eyes for a second, sighed, and let himself revisit the possibility that he was going to die.

***

"Dr. Banner?"

Bruce looked up from his lesson plan, highlighter cap in mouth. He clicked the cap firmly back on and stuck it behind his ear. "Yes sir?"

The student waved him over and Bruce stood, weaving through the rows of desks. "I'm not really good with the metric system--" he started, voice barely above a whisper.

"Ahh, no worries." Bruce swivelled around his notebook and started scrawling letters across the top of the page. "This is a little mnemonic device I learned when I was in school. People think the metric system is hard to pin down because we're raised learning about Fahrenheit and fifty-two eighty feet in a mile, but with the metric system it's so much easier. Like this." Bruce jabbed his highlighter at the book. "Freezing is at zero celsius and boiling is at a hundred. There's a thousand millimeters in a meter and a thousand meters in a kilometer. Using this bad boy," Bruce referenced the line of letters at the top, "you can pretty much start from anywhere and shift a decimal point over when you want to switch to any level of measurement. Just start to the right of the letter and you should have no problems."

"Oh," he murmured. The teen pressed his pencil to the paper and tried it out; he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. "Thanks, Dr. Banner."

"You're such a good teacher, sugarplum," Tony piped up from one of the lab tables in the back.

Bruce raised his head slowly, eyes narrowed in mock-suspicion. "You could be, too, if you stopped hiding out in my supply closet."

"Ooh, that hurts, Dr. Banner, that really hurts me right there." Tony knocked on his chest. "It's almost like you guys are trying to get me to work? Besides, they're just reviewing the chapter and Petey's got that all under control."

Bruce snorted, smiling fondly as half the class choked back their laughter. "Principal Fury's going to get you one of these days."

"Me? Nahh," Tony insisted, waving his hand. He skirted around the kids and slipped through the cracked door of his office. "Fury'll never catch me."

"Take notes, guys," Bruce called loudly then. "Those who don't learn to respect authority now will spend the rest of their lives stuck as a high school physics teacher."

"Ru-ude," Tony sassed, shutting the door behind him.

***

Peter dropped his head to the desk and groaned.

"Fun first week?" Tony asked, poking at him with a pen. He grinned. "Still wanna be a teacher?"

"Mm." Peter slowly pulled himself up into a sitting position. "I don't remember being this bratty in high school."

"Oo-hoo-hoo," Tony laughed, sticking the pen behind his ear. "That bad?" Peter side-eyed him. "Touchy, touchy. You gotta toughen up or they're going to eat you alive, kid."

"I'm pretty sure I'm only supposed to be observing for the first few weeks anyway, but you keep leaving me by myself with no clue how this stuff's supposed to go, _so_ ," Peter retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Touché, Mr. Parker," Tony noted, clearly impressed even as he raised one eyebrow over at Peter. "Alright, fine. I shall spend the next week in the class where I can impart my glorious wisdom and knowledge. In return, I shall come and go as I please afterwards. Deal?"

"You already do that anyway," Peter laughed, already reaching out to shake the man's hand. "Deal."

"Awesome, sweet." Tony clapped him on the back. "Get your stuff and let's go. You got plans?"

"Ahh," Peter started.

"Good. You can hang out with us tonight, rookie." Tony snatched up his briefcase and darted into Bruce's class. "What time you wanna get started tonight, baby doll?" Tony grinned, eyebrows waggling at his fellow science teacher.

Bruce's lips twitched as he continued straightening his desk. "Same time as always, Tony. I'm starting to think you just come up with new excuses to call me strange pet names."

"I have been caught!" Tony declared, throwing the back of his hand to his forehead. "By the way, newbie's coming, too."

"Very exciting," Bruce mused, locking up his drawers. "Think he'll faint?"

"We thought sweet, little Clint was going to sink, but he swam like a pro," Tony quipped, fingers glancing across his phone. "You get that text, Petey?"

Peter popped his head in the classroom. "How'd you get my number?" he asked, frowning in disbelief.

"I think the real question is: what hasn't he gotten from you yet?" Bruce replied with a little grin. "Take it as a compliment; Tony knew my email address and last three places of employment the second I got here."

"Oh sweetbuns, there you go ruining the surprise," Tony cooed, wiggling his fingers. He pointed at Peter. "That's my address. We normally hang out Friday nights to forget the pains of the week."

"Oh." Peter stared down at the text alert on his phone. "Thank you."

Tony winked. "No problem, kid. Whose turn is it to pick, by the way?" He started scrolling through his phone, muttering, "Don't worry, Petey: we'll add you to the wheel."

"It's my turn, actually," Bruce interjected and his smile was pure evil. "And I demand entertainment via Greek and all the stand up in your queue."

"I see your Greek and stand up and raise you a dance-off between Clint and Thor," Tony grinned, in the process of texting out the plans.

"Clint's going to need a lot of alcohol for that to go down," Bruce considered and zipped up his bag, hauling it up by the strap.

"I'll see to that," Tony promised; he turned back to Peter. "You're twenty-one right?"

Peter made a face. "Yes."

"Perfect, awesome," Tony murmured, pocketing his cell at last. "What's your poison, Petey?"

"Oh, you don't have to--"

"You are the unpaid intern currently racking up student loans right?" Tony drawled, raising one eyebrow. "I don't even take money from Loki and he's a douche."

"Beer's fine," Peter croaked and Tony snapped his fingers.

"Damn, I would've pegged you for the body shots type," Tony muttered, smirking at the somewhat horrified look Peter gave them.

***

"You really are a billionaire," Peter blurted the second he stepped into Tony's media room. Not a living room, but an actual entertainment room with a home theater center that encompassed an entire wall of the massive house Tony apparently lived in.

Tony snorted, waving him in. Bruce and Clint were there, sitting on the couch beside Tony, but no one else had yet arrived. "I am hardly a billionaire," he replied, flipping through the channels.

"Your butler let me in," Peter retorted.

Tony sighed and rolled his eyes. "Jarvis needs to _stop answering the door and enjoy his retirement_ ," Tony shouted.

An older man popped his head in, drawling, "This household would cease to function without me."

"Jarvis, there is no household; this is a two-story house," Tony quipped, relinquishing control of the remote to Bruce.

"Which has nine bedrooms, nine and a half baths, and when was the last time you dusted the library, sir?" Jarvis smiled, managing to seem both completely sincere and unbelievably smug all at once.

"You think you're _so_ funny," Tony griped, taking a swig of his water.

"I rather quite believe myself hysterical." Jarvis inclined his head in their direction. "Enjoy your evening, gentlemen."

"Goodnight, Jarvis," Tony shooed. He turned his attention back to Peter, pointing a finger to the opposite side of the room. "Drinks are in the fridge and takeout's on the counter; help yourself."

At Peter's hesitance, Clint stood. He ushered him along. "Come on; it really is okay." Clint led him through the hall and down a new flight of stairs, through _another_ hallway, and finally to the kitchen.

"So, if Tony has all this money, why is he...?" Peter paused, staring down at the immaculate countertops.

"Teaching when he could be doing fuck-all?" Clint finished for him, grabbing a handful of gyros from a large paper sack. "That he won't actually tell us. I think it's because he gets bored." Clint drug out a twenty-four pack and handed it to Peter. "What we _do_ know is Tony's the main reason EMHS is still afloat: the state doesn't give us shit."

"What, really?" Peter asked, nearly dropping beer all over the floor.

"Yeah, he supplies us with new textbooks when the old ones fall apart, bought new equipment for the cafeteria, even made sure all the kids got to go on their senior field trip last year." Clint laughed, leading him back towards the media room. "I'm pretty sure he'd buy the whole school if Nick would let him."

"But isn't he just the principal?" Peter wondered and Clint shot him a look that said Peter really didn't want to know. "Right. Gotcha. So yeah, Greek. I love Greek."

"Who doesn't?" Clint grinned, stuffing a sandwich into Peter's mouth.

***

By the time they got back upstairs, both Steve and Natasha had shown up, an enormous bottle of vodka perched upon the table. There was a comedian fluttering around on the television as per Bruce's earlier request.

"I never," Natasha began, tapping a finger to her lips, "killed a Swiss man."

"Natasha, you really scare the crap out of me sometimes," Tony divulged.

"Thank you," Natasha said sweetly. No one drank, so she shrugged and downed her shot. "I am trying to keep the game exciting," she continued, lashes slightly lowered.

"I've never done drag," Bruce offered, flashing teeth when both Tony took a sip from his glass and Clint swallowed a mouthful of beer.

Steve pursed his lips, gazing around the circle. "Never have I ever... been pulled over." Everyone but Steve drank.

"That's not entirely fair, golden boy," Tony laughed, elbowing Steve in the side. 

"You're just mad because I'm going to win," Steve quipped, waving to Loki and Thor as they arrived.

"You're on, Rogers," Tony challenged, sinister plans already formulating in his brain.

"I've never gone streaking on my college campus," Peter offered; Tony, Steve, and Natasha drank.

"Rogers, you danger-man!" Clint whooped, reaching across the circle to high-five him.

"It was for a fraternity pledge!" Steve insisted, cheeks heating, though he did slaps Clint's palm anyway.

"I have never intentionally spoken ill of someone," Thor declared, beaming around the circle.

"I call bullshit," Tony huffed, index finger tapping against his glass.

"You may as well drink," Loki told them, already throwing back his shot. "He has never consciously said something to hurt another human being."

"If the game is going to continue this way, we're going to need a _lot_ more booze," Tony laughed, uncurling himself from his spot on the couch and moving to stand.

"Tony," Bruce called, stretching out a hand. Tony rolled his eyes and handed him the glass; Bruce took a sip and hummed. "Okay, thank you. Carry on."

Shaking his head in more amusement than anything, Tony gulped back the last of his drink and set it to the table with a solid _clank_.

After he'd scampered out, Loki drawled, "I've never collected plush birdies," and smirked devilishly at Clint.

"I told you that in confidence, you jerk!" Clint accused, mock-affronted as he twisted off the cap to another beer.

***

"How 'ya holding up?" Tony asked, one corner of his mouth quirked up at Peter.

"G--o." Peter snorted and tried again. "Good."

Tony visibly held his tongue, eyes crinkling down at the youth. Tony clapped Peter on the back and his world swam for a moment, fuzzy patches of black attacking the corners of his vision. "Don't puke on my floor," Tony ordered to Peter's obvious discomfort. "You need a bucket or something?"

"I'm good," Peter wheezed after a moment, resting his cheek on the glass table in front of him.

Peter stared out across the room. Clint had taken to flailing in front of the television set in an apparent attempt at Dance Central and Natasha had pulled one chilling smile onto her face before collapsing onto an armchair. Thor had passed out awhile ago on Loki's shoulder, who'd sneered, but allowed it. Bruce was still semi-conscious, but fading fast and even Steve had eventually succumbed to the copious amounts of alcohol he'd been plied with.

The only one who wasn't completely shit-faced was Tony.

"You have an amazing alcohol tolerance," Peter lamented; he jabbed a finger in the general direction of the other man. "Is this kosher? Getting sloshed with you guys a week into this thing?"

Tony patted him on the head. "We're not exactly your prime examples of normality, so take from it what you will."

Peter blinked, nice and slow. "Oh."

Tony huffed another quiet laugh and scratched at his scalp. He nudged Bruce's shoulder lightly, whispering, "Bruce. Come on, cupcake, let's put the kiddies to bed."

"I'll help," Steve offered, loose-limbed and hauling himself up off the floor. He tiptoed over to Natasha to tap her lightly on the shoulder.

"Mm, yeah," Bruce murmured sleepily, rubbing a hand across his face. "Come on, Peter; I'll show you where you can sleep."

"Oh, I can just," Peter broke off into a yawn, "call a cab."

"It's four in the morning," Tony informed him and Peter winced visibly. "Yeah. It's totally fine, Petey. Just don't puke on my floor."

"Got it," Peter confirmed, rising to his feet somewhat unsteadily. Bruce placed a hand on his shoulder so Peter could regain his balance.

"You got Thor?" Tony asked Loki, flicking off the television and grabbing Clint by his shirt collar.

Loki nodded once, closing up the book he wasn't really reading and threw one of his brother's arms over his shoulder so he could pull him up.

"Woah," Peter blurted. Loki actually snarled at Peter, mostly-dragging his brother out the door. "That was supposed to be a compliment!"

"Noise," Natasha hissed, one hand covering her eyes. "Turn it down or I will break you."

Peter clamped his mouth shut and let Bruce lead him to the empty guest room.

***

Unsurprisingly, Steve was the first up the next morning. About midway through his second cup of coffee, Peter stumbled into the kitchen, wide-eyed and looking a little more than lost.

"This house is enormous," he muttered to himself more than anyone else, hands jammed into his jeans.

Steve could tell he was feeling awkward without Tony present, so he offered, "Want to help me make breakfast?"

"Oh, yeah, sure." Peter peered around the kitchen again.

"Right," Steve laughed. "You don't know where anything is. Come on." He stood from the table, waving Peter over as he made his way to the stove. He reached into a random cabinet and pulled out a big skillet. "Can you handle eggs?"

"Sure can," he quipped, brightening. He seemed to gain a bit of his footing then, for he hopped over Tony's fridge, pulling out eggs, butter, and various vegetables out of the bottom drawer. "Any food allergies?" he called, grabbing a hunk of cheese.

Steve quirked again. "Hungover? I'm pretty sure they'll eat anything."

"You're not hungover?" Peter asked, magically procuring a bowl and whisk. He started beating a whole carton of eggs together.

"Nah," Steve confirmed, circling back to the fridge to grab the bacon from the back. "I get a little buzzed, but that's all alcohol really does for me. I'm surprised you're up, though."

"Fast metabolism." Peter quirked a grin. "I've never had an ounce of fat on me."

"Watch it, son. That'll come back to bite you in the butt later."

Peter snorted, fishing out a knife from the board on Tony's counter. Steve fished him out a cutting board so he could start dicing.

Before the silence could become stifling, Steve asked, "So how was your first week working with Tony?"

Peter snorted again and Steve couldn't help but laugh. Peter finally said, "It was very, very busy. Tony goes through the coursework like you wouldn't believe -- it's like doesn't know how to stop."

"And that is why most of his kids who take the AP test pass." Steve turned the burner on a threw a hunk of butter in another skillet. "He likes to act like he doesn't care, but I think he does deep down."

"Or he's just trying to get through the lesson as fast as he can so he can run away and hide," Peter claimed, squinting one eye suspiciously and pointing his spatula at Steve.

"That's far more likely," Steve conceded with a wide grin.

Tony always had a sixth sense for when other people were cooking food. He wandered in, hair stuck up in five different directions and a smear of grease from forehead to cheek. "Bless you, children," he told them, veering straight for the coffee pot. He inhaled the bitter bean smell, snatching up a mug and pouring himself a cup. "You're making omelettes? Oh, I'm keeping you," Tony promised, patting Peter on the head. He swallowed the first mouthful of coffee, humming. "Wonderful."

"Good morning, Tony," Steve greeted, neatly placing strips of bacon in the bottom of his pan. "Sleep well?"

"'Well' implies sleep actually happened," Tony shot back, wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt.

Steve frowned disapprovingly.

"What?" Tony squawked. "I had shit to do."

"What was it you always said about Friday nights being our 'off night'?" Steve wondered aloud, a wrinkle appearing between his brows.

"Technically it was Saturday morning," Tony corrected, jabbing a finger at Steve. He finished his cup, already grabbing for the carafe again. "And besides, pumpkin, it wasn't for school, it was for--"

"Tony, _please_ tell me you finished that prototype or I am going to set your game room on fire, so help me God," a gorgeous redhead demanded as she stalked into the kitchen.

"Only for you," Tony sang, pulling a thin black box out of his back pocket and waving it at her. She snatched it away from him and Tony pouted, "What? No kiss?"

Peter stared. Steve elbowed him and he coughed abruptly, turning back to his eggs and keeping his eyes firmly on them.

"Good morning, Pepper," Steve welcomed, smiling politely at her.

"You're funny," she told Tony, then turned to Steve. "Good morning, Steve. How are you?"

"Just fine, thank you, ma'am." Steve whirled back around to flip the bacon. "Would you like to stay for breakfast?"

"Don't start calling her ' _ma'am_ '; she'll get ideas," Tony whispered theatrically and Pepper swatted his ear.

"I'd love to, but this was a business visit." Pepper slipped the box into her purse and turned her attention to Peter. "And who would this be?"

"Oh, sorry," Peter blurted. He held out his hand. "Peter Parker: Tony's new student teacher."

"You poor man," Pepper sympathized, giving his hand one firm shake. "I'm truly sorry for anything and everything this man makes you do."

"You're so mean to me, Pep," Tony sniffed, rinsing out the pot to make another. "So cruel."

"Mm, and if you didn't avoid me all week, I wouldn't have to be," Pepper drawled, raising one eyebrow. "How was the first week of class, by the way?"

"Hey, I avoid _everyone_ all week, not just you," Tony laughed. "And it was totally awesome: I had my little tit here do most of my teaching."

She flashed Peter another understanding grin. "Once again: I feel nothing but pity for this boy. Gentlemen." Pepper inclined her head to Peter and Steve, then to Tony. "Mr. Stark."

"That'll be all, Ms. Potts!" Tony called as Pepper departed.

"How many jobs do you have?" Peter asked, digging out plates and cutlery.

"Just the one," Tony smirked. "Pepper's the one who runs my company; I just invent shit for her."

"Your _company_?"

"Uh, yeah. Stark Industries? That big ass building in the middle of Manhattan?" Tony shook his head. "You need to get out more, kid."

"He has a company?" Peter squeaked at Steve.

"Uh, billionaire," Tony reminded him, sweeping his arms out majestically.

"Yes, you look so very rich right now," Steve teased as he scooped bacon onto a paper plate.

Eventually everyone else (Jarvis included, though he looked just as impeccable as he had last night) filed into the kitchen in various states of dishevelment, greedily accepting the proffered meal.

"Good first week?" Bruce asked Peter politely, smiling over at the man.

"Great first week," Peter eventually answered with a bright grin of his own.


	2. Starting to Sense a Pattern in Tardiness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: mentions of depression and bullying, both LGBT-related and not.

Steve's morning started out a disaster and went downhill from there. Sometime during the course of the night, he'd managed to pitch his ancient alarm clock to the floor and break it into a million tiny pieces; the only reason he'd woken up in the first place was because Bucky texted him to let him know he'd be flying in later that afternoon. After that, he dropped his watch in the toilet, nearly brained himself on the front door, and his car wouldn't start for ten _darn_ minutes.

By the time he arrived at school, he was nearly half an hour later than normal, jogging through the halls so he could drop his lunch off in the lounge before heading to his class.

"I swear to _god_ Bruce, she put her legs behind her head and--"

Steve skidded to a stop beside the door, bags still in hand.

"Tony, you are foul; it is _way_ too early for this."

"Honey bun!" Tony gasped, sounding slightly accosted.

"Mr. Rogers, are you alright?"

Steve started, whirling around to see one of his first period students, her face slightly concerned. He shook his head. "I'm sorry..."

"Kelsey," she supplied helpfully. She hesitated then, hands twisting around her purse (or was it a backpack? Steve had no idea these days) strap. "The door's still locked, so I thought I'd see if you were in the teacher's lounge."

"Right, right, Kelsey Birch, I'm so sorry." Steve pulled on a smile. "I was just running a little late this morning. I'm coming right now." He turned on his heel and followed her back to E Hall. Pulling out his keys, Steve unlocked the classroom and allowed his students to file in first, chattering as they took their seats. Steve sat down at his desk, sighing. He let his things drop to the floor beside him as he reclined back into what was perhaps the last functional office chair at Erskine.

"Mr. Rogers?" Kelsey asked again.

"Class," he started, rubbing a slow hand against his temples. "Today will be a reading day. Please take out your texts and start on chapter two."

***

Tony bombarded him right after his second period left. "Steve!" he beamed, clapping his hands to the desk in front of him. "Missed you in the lounge this morning."

"Sorry," Steve muttered, running a hand along his bangs. He scribbled a note in his planner. "I was running late so I headed straight here." Frowning, he continued, "You're supposed to be in class right now. I'm not helping you hide from Maria again."

"Uh, I always have a free period now," Tony said, raising an eyebrow; he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Are you okay? You're kind of acting like a little bitch."

"I can't have a bad morning?" Steve asked, finally looking up. "Tony, what do you _want_?"

"Easy, killer," Tony soothed, propping a hip on Steve's desk. He sighed. "So listen, Wednesday's our early day, so I was wondering if you'd want to--"

And with everything else that had happened today, Steve was just _not_ in the mood. "No, Tony. I don't want to go on a date with you. And tomorrow, when you ask? My answer will still be no. You need to learn how to take no for an answer."

"Why are you so hostile all of a sudden?" Tony's voice rose a hair and a passing student paused outside his class, curiously looking in.

Steve grit his teeth and beckoned Tony into his office. When he shut the door, he said, "Look. I don't know who told you or, or dared you into seeing how long it would take to get me to go out with you, but you need to stop, Tony. It's not funny anymore."

"When was this ever funny?" Tony crossed his arms across his chest, a little furrow appearing between his brows. "I like you. I want to go out with you."

"That is a load of crap," Steve gritted out; he matched Tony's stance and frowned again.

Tony sputtered, "Excuse me? Since when are you the expert on what's going on in _my_ head?"

Steve exploded, throwing his arms up in the air. " _Maybe_ if you didn't spend all day _bragging_ about how many women you sleep with, I'd be more inclined to believe you!"

"What the hell is your problem?" Tony hissed. "Because I have an actual sex life -- what? I'm suddenly less sincere?"

"No, you're 'less sincere' because you don't actually mean what you're saying!" Steve crossed his arms again. "Stop harassing me, or I'm going to Nick and filing a complaint."

Tony was quiet for one long moment before throwing his hands in the air in a mockery of surrender. Still glaring, he circled around Steve and backed out of his office, slamming the door behind him.

***

"Tony are you okay--?"

"Perfectly peachy, Petey," Tony snarled and then locked himself in his office.

***

Tony sighed in frustration, scribbling paragraphs of codes onto the back of one of Bruce's test sheets. He rolled onto his back, holding the paper above him and squinting at what he'd written. Tony crumpled it up and threw it in the garbage.

"Tony?" Bruce knocked on his side of the door. "Are you coming to lunch?"

"Not today, buttercup," Tony called, slowly sitting up. He leaned against a filing cabinet and grabbed a sharpie so he could doodle on it. "You go ahead, though. I'm just getting some extra work done."

"Tony..." Bruce said warningly.

Tony rolled his eyes and stood, slapping the handle down so Bruce could come in. Bruce frowned suspiciously, rifling around various nooks and crannies of their office before standing toe to toe with Tony. He sniffed him lightly before sighing, grabbing Tony in a one-armed hug.

"Are you okay?" Bruce whispered in his ear.

"Just a little pissed," he answered sullenly, propping his chin on Bruce's shoulder.

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"No," Tony said petulantly. He made a face, even though Bruce couldn't see it. "I just want to sulk in my office." And maybe hack into the school server and change Steve's desktop picture to a bunch of dicks, but that was neither here nor there.

Bruce snorted. "Alright. I'll bring your lunch back when I'm done."

"Thanks, sweet cheeks," Tony muttered, scratching at Bruce's curls before pulling back to clap him on the shoulder.

Bruce departed then and Tony, seeing how Peter had already left for the lounge, finally slunk out of the office, grabbing his chair so he could roll along the floor with it. Peering at the calendar in his phone, Tony flipped through all he had to go through for the rest of his classes; when he looked up, he noticed that Peter had left the classroom door open _again_.

"Damn it, Peter," Tony muttered, getting up to grab the door. He saw a group of kids clustered around the lockers a handful of feet away. "Hey, Dean Hill's going to write you up if she catches you without a hall pass!" Tony yelled down the hall. Three of them scattered, but the last girl stood there, her head still bowed. Rolling his eyes, Tony turned to go back in his class when he heard the kid hitch a breath before clapping an oversized sleeve over her mouth.

Tony swore internally and groaned, "Jesus Christ, no, don't cry kid -- Hill's not gonna write you up on the second week of school. Relax."

"No, no, it's fine," she insisted. She rubbed her sweater against her eyes and sniffled. "I just need to get..." She sighed, as if realizing something. "My books," she finished lamely, staring at her feet.

"I'll write you a hall pass," Tony offered slowly. "What hall's your locker on?"

"It doesn't matter." She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. "I'll just go to the cafeteria."

Tony huffed a low breath out and wondered, not for the first time, why he became a teacher. "Come on," he said, waving her back to his class. He led her in and pointed her to sit in a desk; she made a face, but obeyed. Tony grabbed his chair and wheeled over in front of her. "Wanna tell me what's going on?"

"No," she mumbled, folding her arms and settling her cheek on top of them. She stared at the wall.

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Wanna tell me why those kids ran off and you didn't?"

"No."

He stuck his tongue out at the back of her head. "Name?" he tried, folding his arms over his chest.

"...Lindsey," she admitted, pursing her lips.

"You don't take my class," Tony said slowly, trying to place her face. "Or Dr. Banner's. Do you take Richards?"

"McCoy," she grumbled, finally sitting up. "Can I go to lunch?"

"Nope," Tony answered, grinning at her as he propped his feet on the desk beside hers. "Lucky for you, I'm in a _great_ mood, so we get to wait here all lunch period. Unless you spill the goods, that is."

She glared at Tony and held out for about another ten seconds before blurting, "They took my books."

"Names?" he prompted. When Lindsey hesitated again, he reminded her, "Or we can sit here--"

"Bianca, Dash, and Thomas," Lindsey confessed, slouching back in the chair. "We're in Mr. McCoy's third period biology class. They took my books because they thought it was funny. Happy?"

Tony grinned, showing teeth. "Ecstatic. Stay here," he ordered, standing swiftly and stalking out the door.

Tony started in the courtyard. "Bianca! Dash! Thomas!" One kid poked his head up, but he wasn't the same teen from the hall, so Tony made his way across the yard and into the cafeteria.

A few more heads turned when he strode through the door; Mr. Stark _never_ , under any circumstance, came to the cafeteria. The noise level lowered a few degrees. When Tony saw the trio cluttered in the corner of the lunchroom, he smiled, a chilly thing. Casually strolling over, he snatched up their stack of books (ignoring their bratty protests in a way only Tony Stark could) and drawled, "Whatcha got here?" He flipped the first cover open. "You don't really look like a Lindsey to me."

"They're mine," the girl with them asserted, tapping a manicured fingernail to the table.

Tony's smirk widened. "IDs then, please." They faltered and he barked, "Right now!" Holding three shiny student cards in his hand, Tony recited, "Bianca Marino, Dash Webber, Thomas Beacon. Congratulations," he boomed; the lunchroom fell silent. "You three are officially the first kids I've ever given detention to in my near ten years of teaching here."

"Are you kidding me?" one of the boys (Thomas) squawked. "I have football practice."

"That's not really my problem," Tony told them, flipping through the rest of the books and depositing the ones that weren't Lindsey's back on the table. "See you at three."

***

"So," Clint started slowly, setting his lunchroom mess down on the table. Natasha made a face at it. "Tony just gave some kids detention."

"What?" Bruce nearly dropped his apple. "Are you serious?"

Clint nodded, stirring his noodle surprise. "He walked in, gave them detention, and left."

"Alright, who pissed him off?" Bruce narrowed his eyes, staring around the lounge. Steve's overwhelming waves of guilt pinged on Bruce's radar. "He went to go see you during third period. What did you do?"

"Nothing," Steve insisted vehemently, turning back to his sandwich. "I just... told him I was tired of him hitting on me."

Bruce blinked slowly. "Tony hits on everyone. Tony hits on Natasha and she _terrifies_ him." Natasha's smile had an evil edge to it, but Bruce plowed on, "He doesn't mean anything offensive by it; that's just how Tony operates."

"Yeah, well that's the problem," Steve muttered irritably, sitting back in his chair. "It's obnoxious to be constantly asked out for nothing more than someone else's entertainment."

"Wow, and how long have you known Tony?" Bruce asked, folding his hands in his lap. He flexed his fingers. "You're making him sound like he does it just to be a dick and I don't think that's very fair of you."

"Forgive me if I'm taking liberties, Bruce, but you're his best friend." Steve sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "You're a little biased."

"Stark is a dick, but you both are acting like the children we teach," Loki suddenly said. He grabbed his things and left, Thor following close behind.

"Perhaps we all just need to take a second and unwind," Clint soothed, interjecting himself into the conversation. "Bruce, you're just being a little overprotective. Steve, you're being harsh."

Bruce leaned back, a small frown still on his lips. "Yes, well." He moved to gather his own lunch, stalking over to the fridge to get Tony's, as well.

"I'm not breaking in new friends," Natasha mentioned as Bruce slipped out the door. "You boys better fix this."

***

Tony, cheek pressed to the countertop, clasped his fingers tightly around the tumbler. His hands shook as he stared at the wall in front of him.

"There's nothing in your glass, you know," Bruce noted, dropping his bag to the floor. He sat on the stool beside Tony.

"I know," Tony whispered. Blinking rapidly at the shelf full of bottles, Tony shrugged himself upright and dragged his gaze over to Bruce. "How did I get here before you? I had detention."

"I helped some of my Chem Honors kids with what they'd need to know for the test on Thursday." Bruce gently took the glass from him and sighed, rubbing his thumb in circles against the back of Tony's neck. "We can take it out of the house, you know. I'm sure Jarvis would approve."

"No." Tony shook his head, lips set in a fine line. "Life isn't so pretty that you can just ignore the problem until it goes away. I would rather," and Tony heaved a heavy sigh then, "rather have it here so that when I fuck up, I can do it in the privacy of my own home rather than out where everyone can see what a--" He visibly restrained himself.

"You're not a failure," Bruce told him, the phrase well-worn, but honest every single time. He pressed his nails lightly against Tony's scalp and gave it a scratch. "You're not going to mess up."

"I can feel it coming," Tony mumbled, letting his eyes drift shut. "At least I have Peter this year."

"We can always try--" Bruce started to suggest.

"I'd rather not." Tony rolled his neck from side to side, staring over at Bruce again. "What are you still doing here, Bruce?"

"I live here, remember?" Bruce laughed quietly. "That room upstairs, right next to the loft?"

"That's not what I meant, idiot," Tony snorted, nudging the man half-heartedly. "I mean, haven't you got anything better to do with your time? Boyfriend, girlfriend, hooker?"

Bruce snorted. "I believe I have my hands full enough between you and the couple hundred students I teach everyday." He saw Edwin hovering by the door and smiled reassuringly, waving his fingers. He hauled Tony up. "Come on; let's go do science."

"I do like science," Tony hummed, ever so subtly holding onto Bruce's sleeve.

***

"I love it when Tyra makes them cut their hair," Loki remarked, lips twitching in a tiny grin.

Natasha pursed her lips to hide her own smile. "They're so catty, it's unbelievable. It's just hair."

"It's their life," Loki insisted with false drama, daintily grasping Natasha by the ankle and setting her foot in his lap. He grabbed the bottle of polish beside him.

"Must you pick black?" Natasha asked, already spreading a clear coat across her fingernails.

"I must," Loki replied solemnly.

"Brother!" Thor exclaimed, bursting out of the bathroom. "I have discovered your foot filing device among my things again!"

Loki rolled his eyes as Natasha switched her feet. He started painting her toes again. "We occupy a space of less than a thousand square feet, Thor. There's bound to be some overlap."

"I am certain I have expressed my displeasure at the mingling of our bathroom supplies," Thor continued, an adorable little wrinkle appearing between his brows. "Brother, your skin powder--"

Loki sighed, "I'll go clean it up, yes?"

Thor beamed. "Thank you, brother."

Natasha kicked her feet up on the ottoman and allowed a small smirk. "You've trained him well," she mused, fanning her hand out beside her.

"Oh, no," Thor insisted suddenly, waving his own hands. "It is just difficult living in such a small space together and we--"

Natasha held up a finger to silence him. "I'm teasing, Thor," she laughed once.

Thor relaxed and came around to sit on the arm of the couch, grabbing her face and pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "You are truly a pleasure to know. I believe you and our childhood friend Sif would get along quite masterfully."

"She is your friend, not mine, brother," Loki called as he returned and fell back onto the couch beside Natasha. Thor sputtered as he attempted to claim the opposite. "Are you staying for dinner, Natasha?" he asked, peering at her feet to check on the state of her nails.

"Not tonight," she decided, wiggling her fingers in the air before starting to paint her other hand. "I have quizzes and homework to grade."

Loki wrinkled his nose. "I shudder to think what disasters my students have written about the Middle Ages." He let his head fall to the back of the couch and sank deeper into the cushions. "Tell Barton that he should teach his students how to write a proper essay."

Natasha arched one thin brow. "I'll get right on that," she said in a tone that implied she really _wouldn't_. Capping the bottle and twisting it on securely, Natasha set the nail polish to the side and stretched, palms lifting towards the ceiling. She stood then, wiggling her toes. "I'll just use the restroom real quick and be on my way."

"Stop by the fridge and grab a few containers of baked spaghetti -- Thor's mother brought them over when she last visited and we're never going to finish them all," Loki yelled as Natasha shut the bathroom door.

A short chuckle escaped her lips as Natasha ran a hand across her curls, tapping a fingertip to her nails one more time before walking past the mirror. She sighed happily at the immaculate state of the bathroom; Thor really didn't know how lucky he was to have Loki living with him. She did her business, washed her hands (carefully), and tiptoed out, eyes flicking fondly to Thor (who'd moved onto the couch beside Loki).

"She is your mother, too, brother," Thor was murmuring, forehead pressed to Loki's temple. He pecked Loki softly on the cheek.

"I beg to differ," Loki retorted, tilting Thor's face so he could capture the other man's lips.

When Natasha returned to the living room, tupperwares in hand, Thor had retreated back to the arm of the couch. "Dear Natasha, you will visit us again soon, I hope?" He smiled, wrapping one massive arm around her shoulders.

She nodded once. "Of course, Thor. Who else could I get to give me pedicures for free?"

"Harlot," Loki growled at her with no real heat. He smirked then, taking her free hand to press a swift kiss to her knuckles. "See you in hell tomorrow."

"Wouldn't be hell without you," Natasha quipped, winking as she glided out.

***

The first bell rang and Tony managed to hide his yawn behind his coffee cup nearly successfully. With one final sigh, Tony set his mug down onto his desk and swooped around Peter, going to the whiteboard and starting his lecture. ' _The little brat better be taking notes_ ,' Tony thought irritably to himself.

As he jabbered on, Tony let his mind drift to that morning's conversation with Fury.

_"Stark," he'd barked, standing at the window with his hands clasped behind his back._

_"You know, this whole tough guy act may fool everybody else, Nicky, but I know deep down inside you're a total softie," Tony cooed, batting his lashes at the principal._

_Fury turned around and raised his eyebrow. "I have three different parents bitching at me, saying you gave their kids detention yesterday for no reason."_

_"Loitering in the halls, harassing one of their classmates, and stealing her books wasn't enough?" Tony drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "I may hide when you come looking and not give a shit what they get up to in my class, but I don't tolerate_ bullying _, Nick."_

_Fury nodded then. "I told them if you could go ten years without giving a single detention, then you must have had a damn good reason for doling them out now. Glad I wasn't actually lying," he laughed gruffly._

_Tony waggled his eyebrows. "Ooo, Fury, I like it when you talk to dirty to me."_

_"Get out of my damn office, Stark."_

Tony paused mid-sentence to ask if anyone had questions. One of his kids looked like he was considering raising his hand, but decided on doodling on the corner of his notebook instead. Tony and Peter shared a mildly amused look before he turned back to the wall, noting, "First test is next Wednesday." He felt the students' attentions suddenly spark and his smirk widened. "If you're extra nice to Mr. Parker, maybe he'll put together a study guide for you all."

Their wide, hopeful eyes swivelled over to Peter and he bit back a laugh. "I'll see what I can do."

"That's the spirit, Petey," Tony grinned, clapping a hand to Peter's back.

***

"Tony..."

Tony kept his eyes firmly on his computer screen, clicking through various emails.

Steve sighed. "I left my class so I could come talk to you, you know."

Tony spared him a second's glance. "People frown on that in polite society, from what I hear. Did Bruce browbeat you into this?"

"No," Steve said, lips twisting. "Not, really, anyway. Tony, look -- about yesterday--"

"It's in the past," he told Steve flippantly, locking his computer and going for his cell. He went down his list of contacts, texting anyone and everyone (but Steve).

"No, but listen." Steve grabbed Peter's empty chair (Jesus, where the hell had he gone?) and sat in front of Tony so that their knees bumped. "I had a bad morning and I took it out on you. I'm so sorry."

"You threatened to go to Fury," Tony muttered weakly, staring down at his phone. "You should've just told me to stop if it bothered you. That's seriously some fucked up shit, Rogers. This is my job."

"I know, I know, it's not that..." Steve braced his elbows on his thighs. "I just..."

"Hey, got your coffee, Tony," Peter piped up, strolling in (so _that's_ where he'd went). He faltered when he saw the two of them. "Er, am I interrupting?"

"Nope, right on time, Petey," Tony confirmed, grabbing the cup and taking a grateful sip. "Listen, Steve, we'll talk later, yeah?"

Steve bit the inside of his cheek and nodded, flashing Peter a not-quite smile as he left.

***

Peter cursed to himself, gathering all his things into his backpack before Tony could lock him in.

"You think you're _so_ funny," Peter called, slinging the strap over his shoulder.

"I really do," Tony retorted, jangling his keys in front of Peter's face. "Seriously, last chance: just set up the class tomorrow -- I got a date."

"Who has a date at seven in the morning?" Peter growled, swiping at the keys.

"That would be me, as I said," Tony laughed, giving the keyring another shake. "Pretty please, Petey-pie?"

Peter sighed. "Fine. Just give 'em to me."

"Thanks, pumpkin." Tony unclipped his car and house keys, tossing the rest of them over at Peter. "You're a real lifesaver -- I promise I'll be in before first period."

"Where have I heard that before?" Peter asked, squinting one eye and Tony barked another laugh before flashing a peace sign and hightailing it out of there. Thunder boomed overhead and Peter hissed out another curse. "Damn it, not again." He slid out of the classroom and fumbled to find the right key.

"Come on, come on, just let me get to my car before it starts--" Outside the glass door at the end of the hall, the sky opened up and a torrential downpour began. "--raining." Peter kicked the door with his sneaker. "Damn." Well, he might as well take his time now, at least. Peter eventually found the key that fit Tony's door, twisting in almost despairingly before checking the handle to ensure it was indeed locked.

A droplet of water hit Peter in the face and he scowled up at the ceiling. With another muttered curse, he shifted his backpack over both shoulders and began the long trudge towards the employee parking lot.

Peter made it to the front of the school before he stopped again, staring curiously at the girl sitting on the floor by the front doors. She had her knees pulled up to her chest and was glaring miserably out at the rain.

"You okay?" Peter called out and she jumped.

She turned back to look at Peter and said none-too-convincingly, "No, I'm fine."

"The buses are already gone for the day," Peter commented, sparing a glance at his watch. "Are you waiting on a ride?"

"No, I'm walking," she whispered, propping her chin back on her kneecaps.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "But it's raining."

"Yeah, I noticed, Sherlock," she muttered, making a face at a droplet of water running down the glass.

Peter barely -- _just_ barely -- held his tongue. "Do you want a ride?" he ground out. "I'm leaving right now, anyway."

She bit her lip and looked at her shoes. "That would be nice, thank you." Standing slowly, she balanced a hand against the wall and stretched her legs, shaking her foot.

"How long have you been sitting here?" Peter wondered, staring out the doors to try and find a break in the deluge.

"Awhile," she admitted; she blinked a few times. "I don't like riding the bus."

"Yeah, that was never fun for me, either. I always rode my bike." Peter grimaced, bracing an arm against the glass. "We're pretty much gonna have to make a run for it."

"I'm down," she said, trying to stomp away the paresthesia. She grabbed her messenger bag and slipped out under the flimsy awning. "Which one's yours?"

"That piece of crap over there," Peter nodded to the little red car in the corner of the lot. "Give me like a five second head start and I'll unlock the door for you."

The rainwater squished and slipped around in Peter's shoes and, by the time he'd gotten to his car, he was soaked. The girl slammed Peter's door as she tumbled in and Peter winced, turning the heat up full blast. With a little shiver, she pulled an enormous sweater out of her bag and began dabbing herself off.

"So..." Peter started slowly, pulling out his cell. "Address?"

"Oh, I just live down on Lincoln," she said, bundling up in the damp sweatshirt.

Peter stared. "You were going to walk eight miles in the rain?"

She frowned. "I really don't like the bus." Her head thunked to the window; after a moment, she whispered, "The kids are really mean."

Peter kept quiet and let her continue.

"They tug on my hair and call me dyke and," she sighed, "I'd rather swim through lava than sit with those assholes."

"Why don't you tell Principal Fury about it?" Peter asked, hands tightening on the steering wheel.

Shifting her face so she could raise an eyebrow at him, she blurted, "You're Mr. Stark's student teacher, right? The kids he gave detention for taking my stuff? After lunch yesterday, they hid my clothes while I was in gym class. I had to spend the rest of the day festering in my sweat." She faced away from him again. "You guys think you're helping, but you're really not."

Peter let out a slow breath before he spoke next. "I was bullied a lot in school. None of the teachers really noticed." He turned onto Lincoln Street, following her quiet directions. "I could've gone to medical school or become a physicist, but I chose to be a teacher. I love science, but I also want to make a difference." There weren't any cars in the driveway. "Are your parents home?"

She shook her head. "Mom's at work." She unclipped her seatbelt then, flashing a small smile. "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," Peter replied easily. The rain had let up to a steady drizzle. As she jumped over the various puddles to get to the front door, Peter put the car in park and opened his own door, bracing an elbow on the roof as he stepped out. "So what do you want us to do if not give them detention?" he yelled.

She stopped on the porch, considering the question for a moment. "We don't have a QSA at school. That could help a lot. We'd need a teacher to sponsor it, though."

"Hey, I'm a student teacher," Peter laughed. "That means I happen to know the majority of the faculty at Erskine."

She rolled her eyes. "Baby teacher, more like it!" she called out, hand on her doorknob. "Lindsey Beck, by the way."

"Peter Parker," Peter introduced with a fancy wave.

"I knew that!" Lindsey huffed, eyes laughing at him as she ducked inside her house.

***

Clint's neighbor was evil.

No, he really, truly was. Some nasty spawn of hell had crawled out of the earth one morning thirty two years ago and spat up a minion who'd promptly named himself Bradley Barrington III.

The _Third_.

They fought about the noise level. They fought about the garbage. They fought about how Clint never turned his _front porch light_ on at night. Bradley (Clint liked to call him 'Brad' or 'B-Man' because the other man absolutely despised nicknames) yelled at Clint for listening to music at five a.m. (not true; Clint never got up earlier than five fifteen). He snipped when Clint didn't fasten the lids on his garbage bins _just so_. Bradley _screeched_ when he came home after dark and Clint sat on his front porch shooting nerf gun darts at him.

Clint never, ever missed.

Natasha had always been amused by their unofficial war, but never actively participated in it until she'd come over one day last summer, practically foaming at the mouth -- which was a lot of rage, considering her normal range of emotion was a raised eyebrow or a careful smirk. She'd grabbed two of Clint's largest pans, stepped out on the back porch, and smacked them together repeatedly until Clint's ears rang.

After that, it was all downhill really. Whenever she stayed over, they made sure to have the most obstreperous sex in the middle of the night. Copies of Natasha's weapons receipts (knives, tasers, guns, whatever she could get her hands on really) mysteriously made their way into Bradley's mailbox. One time she went into the backyard and discharged her firearm at three in the morning.

When Bradley had come out, spluttering curses and nonsense, Natasha had simply shrugged and said, "I thought I heard a burglar."

Currently, the dickhead was bitching at Clint for something that had exploded under his bed two weeks ago.

"For the last time, Brad," Clint groaned, rubbing one finger against his temple. "Nat and I were in Taiwan. Remember? We left in a taxi with six something suitcases a month ago? We got back well after your house started smelling like cat pee."

"How do you know it smelled like cat pee?" Bradley squawked; there was a bulging vein on his neck that Clint would've been worried about if he were anyone else.

"You just _told_ me, Brad." Nat's car pulled into the drive and Clint sighed in relief. "Listen, I'd love to stay and cat -- chat," Clint smirked, "but I have English papers to grade. Molding the youth of today and all that."

"I know it was one of you!" Bradley shrieked as Natasha strolled up and slammed the door in his face.

She pursed her lips and snapped the blinds shut. "You should let me kill him."

"That generally warrants jail time in America," Clint laughed, pressing his lips to hers in lieu of a greeting.

"They'll never find the body," she swore as she sank into him. "Loki says they're still taking bets."

Clint snorted when he pulled back, already heading back into the kitchen. "I made fish," he called from the oven, pulling out a shallow, foil-covered pan.

"Good. I brought dessert," Natasha noted, slipping the containers in the fridge. "Are the two idiots still fighting?"

"When are they not fighting?" Clint complained, unwrapping their dinner. He grabbed two plates from the cupboard. "It's something new every other week."

"Well, Bucky flew in last night, so maybe he'll talk some sense into Steve." Clint would say she fell into her chair, but nothing Natasha did was anything but pure grace, even on her worst days. With a tiny sigh, Natasha murmured, "Did you finish grading?"

"Almost." Clint set a plate and a glass of wine in front of her; the corner of her lips tilted up. "What about you?"

"Today's assignments were all oral." Natasha hummed, taking a bite as Clint sat down with his own dinner. Finally, she said, "Do you ever wonder what our lives would be like if we weren't teachers?"

"We'd totally be superheroes," Clint told her with a grin. Her incredulous blink spoke volumes. "Nah, I don't know. I don't really think about it. Why, do you?"

"No." Natasha took a sip of her wine. "Must be the weather."

The rain always did make her think.

***

Bucky was dozing on the couch when Steve got home. He blinked sleepily up at the blond, grinning at the proffered takeout.

"You know," Steve started, peeling himself out of his raincoat, "if you actually went outside, it might be easier to get over your jet lag."

Bucky waved him off, biting into a too-hot eggroll; he swallowed it like a trooper. "You and Stark kiss and make up yet?" he managed after a minute, wiping a napkin across his chin.

Steve shook his head as he made his way across the apartment to his kitchen. He reached into a drawer to pull out some forks, then into the fridge for two beers. "He wouldn't even give me the time of day," he muttered miserably, handing a bottle to Bucky and sitting down beside him.

"You said you were gonna file a sexual harassment complaint," Bucky reminded him, digging into a container of lo mein. "Can't say I blame the guy."

"So Tony's the only one who's allowed to be an ass?" Steve accused, trying to cover up his pout with a scowl; it wasn't particularly effective.

"Hey now, I remember that sassy stick who used to get beat up in alleyways back in Brooklyn," Bucky teased, giving his friend a little shove. "I know you got a tongue on you, but from what you've told me, the others really don't. Look," Bucky set his food down and took a sip of beer, "you like him, right? Just give him that date he's been asking for. I'm sure he'll forgive you after you give him a taste of the good old Captain America."

Steve bristled, his cheeks flushing a healthy shade of pink. "Stop calling me that," he pleaded. "That was one year -- _one_ year, Bucky."

"Best Halloween ever," Bucky snickered. "I still have that costume back home--"

"I told you to burn that," Steve hissed, becoming increasingly horrified by the minute. He pursed his lips and glowered into his food. "Besides, I don't like him. He's pushy and stubborn and--"

"Sounds like someone I know," Bucky sang and Steve cuffed him lightly across the arm.

"He's not going to talk to me anyway," Steve mumbled, sighing.

"Well then use his buddy as a mediary, uh," Bucky snapped his fingers in the air, "Barry? Bart?"

"Bruce," Steve supplied.

"Bruce! Yeah, that's it." Steve shook his head, amused, and Bucky laughed at him. "Come on, you and Stark have been friends since he pretty much started teaching at Erskine. You'll grovel, he'll get over it, and you'll move on." Bucky rapped his knuckles against Steve's temple. "Maybe you'll even take your head outta your ass long enough to admit you wanna bone him just as much as he wants to bone you."

"Shut up and eat your noodles," Steve grumbled, pressing the beer bottle to his face in a desperate attempt to cool his blush.

***

The next morning, Tony'd barely made it to his car before his phone rang. Staring down at the caller ID, he sighed, put the car in drive, and bit the bullet.

"Pepper!" he greeted loud and bright. "Good morning, my dear, sweet, wonderful--"

"Tony, what the _hell_ did you do?" she screeched in his ear.

Tony winced, pulling the phone a few inches away. "Whatever do you mean?" he drawled. He stared back at the retreating image of Stark Industries in his rearview mirror before pressing his foot a little more firmly on the gas.

" _You know what I'm talking about_ ," Pepper hissed at a far more reasonable volume. "I am perfectly alright with being your CEO, battling the board of directors, making sure none of your _scandals_ come to light and get you fired from teaching," and she took a breath then, "but Tony, I don't _want_ your company."

"Sure you do, Peps!" Tony laughed, taking a quick corner. 

"No, Tony, I really don't. I don't want 'Potts' anything on _anything_!" she moaned and Tony allowed himself a moment to picture that cute wrinkle between her eyebrows that Pepper would never admit to. "Tony, please tell me this isn't another Obadiah--"

"It's _not_ ," Tony insisted a bit too harshly, nearly clipping a mailbox. He turned his eyes back to the road, jaw clenched. "Pepper you are the best goddamn thing to ever happen to this company and you know it."

She sighed long-sufferingly. "You couldn't have at least _asked_ me?"

"Think of it as a birthday present," Tony quipped.

"Tony, my birthday was in May."

"Oh, would you look at that? I'm at the school, gotta go work, talk to you later, Pep!" Tony sang.

"Tony--" she squawked as he ended the call.

***

Steve popped his head into Bruce's classroom, sighing in relief when he saw the man was alone. "Hey Bruce." He managed a weak grin. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

Bruce looked up from his puzzle and nodded after a moment, folding up his glasses and slipping them in his breast pocket. "What's up, Steve?"

"Do you think that you could," Steve faltered and made a tiny face. He stepped fully into the classroom then, clasping his hands behind his back. Steve pulled his spine straighter and tried again, "I'm not sure how to apologize to Tony. I was a real jerk to him."

"I could've told you that," Bruce muttered to himself. Steve's face fell and he raised his hand to stop him. "No, no. You hurt his feelings. I don't know what you said or how you said it, but you got under his skin. He needs time to compose himself, but he also needs you to go that extra mile. Tony isn't good with apologies, but well. He's going to get one anyway." Bruce squinted an eye at Steve. "Right?"

"Right, right," Steve confirmed. He twiddled his thumbs for a second. "Will you help me?"

Bruce paused again. "Come over tonight. We'll have dinner, you'll massage Tony's already overinflated ego, and then you'll apologize again. Sound good?"

Steve beamed bright as the sun. Leaning over, he grabbed Bruce's face and dropped a peck to the man's forehead. "Thank you, Bruce. You're the best."

Bruce's cheeks were still red when the warning bell rang.

***

"Soooo," Peter looked up from the student handbook in his hand, "what does one generally need to do to start a club here?"

Tony raised an eyebrow and set down his burger. "I tried to start a Science Bros club with Bruce years ago; no one wanted to join."

"Possibly because you included the word 'bros' in the title," Peter remarked smartly, grabbing one of Tony's french fries. "Doesn't leave a lot of room for any girls that like science. But that's not what I'm talking about -- I mean something like a QSA."

Tony frowned. "We don't have one of those?" He swatted at Peter's next attempt of thievery.

"Where have you been, Mr. Ten-Years?" Peter quipped, dodging for another handful of fries. "Yeah, there's nothing like that here: I checked."

"And this is a problem? Kids are getting picked on?" Tony asked, voice a little rough around the edges.

When Peter met Tony's gaze again, there was a strange look on the other man's face. "Yeah," Peter confirmed. "Kids are getting picked on."

Tony nodded, wiping his hands off on his pants and standing. "Leave everything to me, pumpkin eater," Tony crowed, reaching over to ruffle Peter's hair. "I've got everything under control."

Fury wasn't in his office, so Tony took the glorious opportunity to burst through Coulson's door (Tony didn't often get the chance -- what with Fury to irritate and all). "Phil!" he sang, grinning toothily. "Phil, Phil, Philly-willy. Buddy, I got a proposition for you."

Coulson looked far too unamused for it to be authentic. "You cannot rename the employee lounge the 'stripper lounge' and you cannot throw dollar bills at the teachers when they walk through the door."

"That was so last spring, Coulson." Tony's smile widened. "No, this is actually a real proposition. Can I have a club registration form?"

Coulson actually considered Tony then, pushing back from his desk a few inches. "Science club?"

"Better," Tony told him. "Did you know we don't have any kind of LGBT club here?"

"I know what every one of you had for breakfast this morning." Phil actually shared a smile of his own, swivelling around so he could dig through one of the numerous filing cabinets behind him. "Nobody's ever asked for one. You got a club president?"

"Working on it," Tony replied, snatching the forms out of Coulson's outstretched hand. "I'll be the sponsor, though."

"You need at least five members for it to be legitimate, by the way," Coulson reminded him, turning back to his computer. "And it needs to be approved by the student council."

"I will do these things as well." Tony smirked and as he slipped out the office, called, "Have fun watching Supernanny!"

Phil's eyeroll was audible even outside the front office.

***

Jarvis, as he always did when guests came over, let Steve in. He smiled politely, though something told Steve he knew exactly the reason Steve was here tonight. "They've already sat down at the table, but are waiting for you, Mr. Rogers," he supplied helpfully with a slight inclination of his head.

"Thanks, Jarvis," Steve replied, unzipping his jacket and hanging it on the fancy coat rack beside them. "How are you today?"

"Well as ever, thank you." Jarvis allowed a modicum of sincerity in his voice then. "Though I never had children of my own, I like to consider you all my family of a sort. However, I have known Anthony since he was a boy; he holds quite the special place in my heart."

Steve did not doubt that for a second. "You're a good man, Jarvis," he told him, extending his hand.

Jarvis shook it and his face finally softened into the man Steve knew and loved. "I shall be in the library if you all need me. Please enjoy your dinner, Steven."

"I thought I heard Jarvis' sneaky butler skills at work," Tony drawled when Steve took a right into the dining room.

Steve grinned a bit. "I'm beginning to think he's got cameras set up everywhere." Bruce hid a laugh in his glass in Steve's jaw dropped. "No. He doesn't, does he?"

"We're not quite brave enough to ask," Bruce confessed, waving him over. Tony was at the head of his ridiculously long dining table and Bruce sat to his right; there was a place set for Steve to Tony's left.

"Right, right, so the zebrafish," Bruce continued as Steve took his seat, "has the ability to repair spinal cord trauma. What's remarkable about this is that mammalian glial cells, when they repair a repair a spinal injury, create a multi-branched, star-shaped arrangement that turns into this dense scar tissue, but fish form this long, slender structure that actually appears to aid in the healing process." Bruce took a sip of water. "I mean, that the cells allow new nerves to grow; it's an amazing study."

"Bruce likes to keep up on the science know-how," Tony teased, pulling his attention away from Bruce long enough to acknowledge Steve's obvious bewilderment.

"Don't pretend you don't read the technology articles every morning," Bruce shot back, finally tucking into his dinner. "I like to keep a stimulating conversation going."

Steve smiled at the easy banter and took a bite of chicken. "Do you guys have dinner together every night?" Steve asked when they reached a break.

Bruce looked a little shy then. "Ah, well, we try to. If I can drag Tony out of the garage long enough to eat, it's best to entice him with good food."

"Keeps me from forgetting I have a real job," Tony snorted, fork tapping on his plate a few times. "You're gonna be such a good mom, Bruce."

"Shut up," Bruce laughed and Tony threw a pea at him. "I'm going to send you to your room with no dessert, you ingrate." Bruce swatted Tony's shirt sleeve and said, "Oh, I'm sorry, we never asked. Did you want something else to drink? Tony and I usually just have water."

"I know, it's gross; we're so healthy," Tony mock-whined. "Bruce likes to pretend it's for my well-being, but it's really just because he likes to see me suffer at the hands of tasteless beverages."

"You've figured out my master plan," Bruce intoned dryly. "I guess I'll just have to come up with a new one, then."

Dinner turned out to be a lot better than he'd originally imagined; Steve thought it was going to be awkward with wounded, unsure gestures from all sides, but Tony and Bruce kept the conversation flowing, with little bits thrown in from Steve here and there. As requested by Bruce, Steve also threw in as many subtle compliments to Tony as he could manage without giving himself away (though by the way Tony kept preening beside him, Steve knew he'd been pretty much figured out from the start). Steve grinned around his fork at the latest lull in topic. "I saw a documentary the other day on the human body; it was pretty nifty."

"Uh huh." Tony smirked. "And did you understand all the big words they used, Steve?"

"Hey! I took a biology class or two back in the day -- I have an idea or two about what's going on."

"Biology!" Tony squawked, affronted. " _Biology_ , he says to the physics and chem teachers."

"It's all science," Steve insisted with a huff and Bruce and Tony shared a look of horror.

"Yeah, I'll remember that when we let the astrochemist perform open heart surgery on you," Tony said with a shake of his head. "It's all science -- who _are_ you?"

"I'm a history teacher, Tony," Steve reminded him. "His-to-ry."

"Yeah, so what, I know about history and shit. Whiny white people, they hate tea and threw it in the ocean, uh," Tony waved his hand in the air, "Hitler sucks, how am I doing Bruce?"

"Better than I thought you would," Bruce replied, lips twitching. He stood then and spared Steve a knowing glance. "I'm just going to get the cake -- I'll be right back."

"I knew this was a set up," Tony muttered to himself, albeit less hostile than Steve imagined he would be. His eyes flicked over to Steve.

Steve, in turn, took a breath. "I'm gay," he blurted and Tony actually jerked, staring fully at Steve then. "It's not that I'm in the closet or anything, but I just like to keep my personal life _personal_ and I'd rather kids pay attention to my lectures instead of my sexuality so," Steve made a face as he tried to pull himself back on track, "I thought you were messing with me. That's no excuse, though. I'm sorry."

"Wow, worst apology ever," Tony said bluntly. Then he barked out a laugh when Steve blanched, clapping the man on the shoulder. "Accepted."

Steve's shoulders visibly relaxed, the tension slowly slipping out. "Thank you."

"No problem, just seriously, if you do that again, I'll tell Natasha you're the one who took her underwear at last year's Christmas party," Tony threatened, a devilish tilt to his smirk.

Steve paled again. "No, Tony, you wouldn't -- I _didn't_."

His eyes flashed dangerously in a way that said 'try me'. Then Tony asked, "Hey, so how come you've never told any of us before? I mean, I'm pretty sure none of us really give a shit, but is it like some big secret? Can I tell Bruce?"

"Tell me what?" Bruce asked, coming back in with a giant, white cake.

Tony's eyes sparkled at the sight of it. "How much I _love_ your baking skills," he cooed, reaching out to try and nab a dab of frosting. Bruce smacked his finger with the flat end of the cake cutter.

Well, he might as well. "It's just never really come up in conversation before," Steve explained lamely; he turned a weak smile to Bruce. "I'm gay."

Something strange lit up in Bruce's eyes. Then he shook his head minutely and held the cake out in front of Steve. "Happy Coming Out," he grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Do you like coconut?"

"Oh, can I--" Tony started, nearly trembling with glee.

"No," Bruce told him firmly. Releasing two fingers, some paper plates fell to the table and Bruce set the cake down beside them. He smiled softly at Steve. "Thank you for telling us. I'm glad you trust me and Tony enough to share this part of your life with us."

Steve's eyes felt a little prickly. "Thanks," he murmured, though he wasn't sure what for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zebrafish are cool as shit btw :| This is a legitimate study that I googled, pfff.
> 
> EDIT: A reviewer pointed out a slight grey area where it wasn't exactly clear what was going on, so I tweaked a scene a little bit; shouldn't be too noticeable!


	3. Missteps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than normal; this chapter was kind of hard to write. ;-; Regardless, please enjoy!
> 
> Trigger warnings for this chapter: mentions and some dealings with depression and alcoholism, as well as LGBT-related bullying.

"So that kid who wants to start a QSA, Martha," Tony started, taking a sip of coffee.

"Lindsey," Peter corrected, then jerked his head up to look at Tony, cursing.

"Aha!" Tony crowed. "I knew you weren't smart enough to come up with that on your own."

"Hey!" Peter made a face at Tony.

"Hey, what?" Tony asked, already turning back to his computer. The first few students had started trickling into the classroom. He backpedalled then. "Wait, Lindsey, that brat from McCoy's class? You dick, why didn't you tell me it was her?"

Peter turned back to his magazine and attempted at casually turning the page. "Well," Peter said slowly, eyes moving blindly over an article on insects. "The stunt you pulled with those kids in the lunchroom for starters. A lot of bullies don't respond well to being called out in a public setting."

"What, was I supposed to let those little shitheads get away with picking on her?" Tony grumbled, now doodling on his tablet with one finger. 

"Depends," Peter continued in that same, drawn-out tone. "Was it more for her or you?" He could feel Tony prickling beside him, so he switched tactics. "Look, I know it's been awhile since you were a teenager -- being an old man and all--"

"You better watch your _mouth_ ," Tony warned, tucking the corners of his mouth in to keep from laughing.

"-- but really, how well do kids react to being publicly embarrassed?" Peter finished, quirking an eyebrow.

Tony sobered and stared off into space for a moment. "Not well," he admitted eventually. He pursed his lips. "So what happened then?"

"Nothing... too bad. They just took her clothes while she was in gym," Peter said with affected flippancy and a little shrug.

"Why didn't you come to me?" Tony asked him then, finally breaking with staring match with the wall. "Why didn't she?"

"I don't know," Peter muttered brusquely. "How bad of a problem is bullying at this school?" When Tony didn't answer, Peter turned around to see him with his chin propped on his hand, forehead furrowed deep in thought. "I mean, hey, though, it's okay, cuz you know now, right?" Peter started, cracking a crooked grin.

"Yeah," Tony murmured, standing up as the bell for first lunch rang. He tucked his tablet in the back of his waistband. "Meet you in the lounge?"

"Sure..." Peter gathered up his things and shoved them under Tony's desk. "Are you actually coming today, then?"

"Hm? Yeah, Steve and I are totally cool, really," Tony said with a wave, sliding out of the room. He caught sight of Lindsey's fluffy hair through the sea of students and called out, "Hey! Lindsey!"

A couple of heads turned, but when the Lindsey he wanted saw Tony, her face twisted into that of someone sucking a lemon.

"So I hear you want a QSA," Tony grinned down at her, feet fixed in one place as the kids milled around him.

Lindsey's eyes widened and she moaned, " _No_ , not you, please."

"Hey," Tony huffed, hands on his hips. "Hey, I am awesome. I am the best damn club advisor you could ever hope to have." He noticed Steve passing by on his way to the teacher's lounge. "Steve!" he barked out. Steve paused mid-step, raising one brow at Tony. "Steve, am I great?"

His eyes flicked between the two. "Sure?" Steve tried. When it became obvious that was all Tony wanted, he shook his head and said, "See you at lunch, Mr. Stark."

Tony beamed and turned back to Lindsey. "See? I'm great, awesome, positively _perfect_ to be your sponsor. What do you say?" Grabbing his tablet out of the back of his jeans, Tony flicked open a random tab. "Look, all you need to do is get five members, fill out these forms -- I got 'em in my classroom -- and take it to the student council. No big, right?"

"Bianca's on the student council," Lindsey piped up. "There's no way she'll approve it--"

"Little Ms. Marino doesn't have a choice if we've covered all our bases, kid," Tony snarked.

"--and anyway, does it look like I have any friends?" Lindsey finished, sweeping one arm down her front. "I'm not exactly winning any beauty pageants here."

"See, now, if looks were indicative of amount of people who can like you, Mr. Barton would be totally friendless, too," Tony countered, smirking at the laugh she bit back. "But instead, he's got me and all the other totally awesome teachers at Erskine. Pretty sweet deal, right?"

"I'm not sure he should be counting you as a perk," she shot back, but there was a twist of her lips that suggested she wasn't trying to be as bratty as she had been earlier that week. "--er, sir."

"Yeah, _sir_ ," Tony confirmed, finally flipping his tablet back over and tapping at it. "Listen, I'll make you a deal -- whoever makes the coolest, sweet ass sign first gets to decide if I can be the sponsor or not."

"Wait, what are you doing, we're in the _hallway_ ," she hissed, trying to get a peek at what he was doing.

"Nope, too late, I win," Tony declared, flipping it back to show her the colorful poster on his screen. He poked the little printer icon with his middle finger. "Aaand I decided I want to be the sponsor." After Tony'd let Lindsey gingerly take the tablet from him to study the sign, he said quietly, "I remember what it's like not to have friends."

Lindsey looked up sharply, brows knitting together as if she wanted to say, "You? Please." Instead, after a pause, she grumbled, "Okay fine, I'll put up your stupid signs."

"That's the spirit!" Tony cheered, clapping her on the back and snatching up his tablet before she could drop it. The thing was worth a small fortune, after all.

***

"The prodigal son returns," Natasha remarked, hiding her slow smile behind a mug of tea.

"Please never make that reference in front of me again." Tony shuddered theatrically, taking a seat beside Bruce, who grinned at him, obviously pleased.

"How was your morning?" Bruce asked, munching on a carrot stick. Tony smirked and stole the next one right from Bruce's fingertips. "How goes the club duty?"

"Pleasant as always, buttercup," Tony announced as he leaned back in his chair. "And it goes fantastically -- expect posters going on your board after lunch."

"You two are morbidly domestic," Natasha continued, nibbling at her own lunch. Beside her, Clint snorted into his cafeteria mess, but otherwise kept silent.

"Just admit you missed me here and we can move on with our lives, Natasha."

"You'll be waiting till your dying breath for that," Natasha quipped.

"So I _will_ get it on my deathbed?" Tony retaliated, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Wait, you're sponsoring a club?" Steve suddenly piped up, twisting the cap back on his water bottle.

"Yeah, yeah, Steve, come on, keep up with the times," Tony told him with a little laugh, snatching a muffin out of his and Bruce's lunchbox. "You'll totally hang one of my signs in your class, right?"

"This is a school appropriate club, right Tony?" Steve asked, suddenly suspicious.

"One hundred percent, Roger-Dodgers," Tony swore, placing one hand in the air and the other over his heart.

"I shall also hang up your school club's announcements in the locker rooms!" Thor boomed as he appeared behind Tony, slapping a massive hand to the man's back. "The students will be filled with mighty glee upon seeing the masterpiece of Tony Stark's!"

" _Excellent_ ," Tony crooned, tapping his pointer fingers rapidly together.

"What kind of club is it?" Clint finally asked, wiping at his mouth with a paper towel.

Peter, just having returned from the long lunchroom line, looked over at them all curiously before pulling up a chair beside Tony.

Tony scooted closer to Bruce to allow for more room. "That, my dear Clinty," Tony cooed, "is for me to know and you to find out."

"I'm not putting anything on my board till I know what it is," Clint told Tony with jab of his fork in the man's direction.

"Don't get your panties in a twist--" Tony blew a kiss at Clint, "--you'll know soon; promise."

"Uh huh," Clint mumbled none-too-convincingly, returning to his slop.

"Mm, one thing though." Tony brushed a few crumbs off his beard and turned to Steve. "Your printer's really the only one worth its shit since Coulson likes you best. I just need an idea of what they look like on paper before I take the design home and use my super awesome ones?"

"Oh," Steve looked up again, "yeah sure, no problem, Tony."

"Thanks buddy," Tony said before turning back to talk to Bruce.

***

Thor's children were playing kickball today.

Loki paused his lecture, staring apathetically out the open window. Leaning one elbow against the sill, he resumed speaking, but kept half his attention on Thor.

His brother's outdoor classes had a tendency to end in broken windows.

However, the man seemed to have some sort of sixth sense for knowing whenever Loki was spying on him. "Brother!" Thor called from the field outside. He waved to his students and jogged over, leaving on the other side of the window and beaming at the class at large. "Would you not join us in a game of kick ball?"

Loki rolled his eyes and swivelled around to give Thor his full attention. "No brother. Need I remind you that I do not allow sweat into my classroom?"

"You have far too many rules, Loki," Thor told him, amused. "You must learn to enjoy life!"

"We will enjoy life inside, thank you," Loki said, taking great pleasure in the way the class deflated. He waved Thor off. "Go now, brother, before your miscreants snap each others' bones."

After Thor'd scampered off, laughing, one of his stupid brats opened his mouth and blurted, "So if Coach Odinson is your brother, why do you both have different last names?" A few of the students sniggered.

"Close your books," Loki snarled.

For their lip, Loki's children received the pop quiz from hell.

***

"Man, I am awesome," Tony admired, holding up the poster for Steve and Lindsey to see.

The last bell had rung about twenty minutes ago, but Tony had wanted to show a girl in a two-sizes-too-large sweatshirt his poster before going home for the day. Hence, the three of them were clustered in Steve's office as Tony preened over his 'amazing QSA Club sign'.

"It's acceptable," Lindsey grudgingly admitted, taking the paper from him and scanning the information on it. "It's okay if we use your classroom then?"

"Yeah sure, no problem," Tony told her with a little wave. "Hey, you missed the buses, you got a ride?" She shook her head, so Tony continued with, "Well duh, go get your stuff, brat," raising an eyebrow at the petulant twist of her mouth.

After she'd skidded out of the class, Steve turned to Tony, slightly pensive. "Tony, are you starting a Queer-Straight Alliance because I--?"

"No, dummy," Tony snorted, giving the blond a light shove. "She's the one who wants it; I'm just the chaperone."

"Are you sure?" Steve asked again, pursing his lips.

"Positive," Tony replied with a little eyeroll. He grabbed a push pin and stuck the sign up on the outside of his office door. "Anyway, I got chauffeur duty, apparently, so I'll talk to you later, yeah?"

"Oh," Steve said with a little crinkle of his eyes. "Okay. Bye, Tony."

"Peace!" Tony smirked, flashing two fingers as he slid out after Lindsey.

***

"Alright, so where do you live, kid?" Tony asked, tapping out a text to Bruce with the club sign image attached; he pocketed his cell when he received a smiley face in return.

"Just down on Lincoln," Lindsey answered, fiddling with her messenger bag. It wasn't raining today, but the sky was still splattered with dark rain clouds in a silent promise of eventual storms. Tony paid it no heed, striding across the parking lot as if he expected the rain to wait for _him_ (though knowing Mr. Stark, it probably would). Lindsey followed close behind, eyes glued firmly to the air above them. When they got to Tony's car, she added, "Thanks," almost as an afterthought.

"Hm?" Tony's head swivelled back to her as he flipped his headlights on. He said, "It's just a ride home. Don't worry about it."

The pout was back on her face, as if it was physically paining her to speak (with teenagers, it always did). "That's not what I meant. Thanks for agreeing to be the club sponsor," Lindsey amended, sinking as low into her seat as the belt would allow.

Tony watched her out of the corner of his eye. "It's nothing -- really," he said eventually, flipping on his wipers as the first gush of water splashed across the windshield. "You gotta be honest with me, though. Scale of one to ten: how bad are the other kids to you?"

"Seven," she whispered; Tony looked at her sharply then, pulling off to the side of the road before he skidded into a ditch. He flicked on the hazard lights. "I mean, they don't beat me up or anything, but it's just," Lindsey stared out the window at the sliding rain, "it's every fricking _day_. I'm a lesbian, not a purple alien with six arms and a pear-shaped head."

"Sometimes kids can't really tell the difference," Tony muttered to her, lip curling. "The little earmites go sniffing for shit that doesn't fit into their pretty little view of how the world's supposed to work, but instead of taking the time to get to know you, they start throwing around names or punches. The only thing you can really do at this point is show them what Neanderthals they're being, or send them to me so I can unleash my deadly detention powers upon them." Tony smirked over at Lindsey, who rolled her eyes. "This is the last thing you want to hear, but it gets better the older you get."

Lindsey snorted. "That's _all_ I hear."

Tony huffed a little laugh. "Yeah well, it's actually somewhat true. Imagine: an adult feeding you something that's _not_ bullshit."

"The horror," she drawled as Tony finally pulled back on the road. She pointed at the little green mailbox on the right. "That's mine."

"So, is it just the kids at school, or?" Tony tapped out a little tune on the steering wheel, one hand hovering above the door-lock button.

Lindsey nodded. "My mom doesn't really understand the whole 'her daughter digs chicks thing', but she's not going out of her way to be a bitch about it, so there's that."

"She know you get picked on?" Tony asked.

Lindsey stared at him incredulously. "Do they ever?" she retorted, hopping out of the car to grab her back out of the backseat.

"No," Tony started, "I guess they don't." She shut the car door a bit firmly and Tony bristled. "Don't slam it, you brat," he told her as he rolled down the passenger window. A few drips of water hit his seat.

Lindsey made another face at him from her front porch.

"I'm gonna keep the signup sheet in my office, okay?" he continued loudly, as if that would counteract her supreme brattiness. "Stop by for some posters to hang up -- and fill out those papers I gave you!"

"Yes, sir," Lindsey replied with a mock-salute. Grabbing her keys out of her bag, she moved to unlock the door before the rain started pouring sideways.

"Hey!" Tony called out. Lindsey paused, door half-open. Tony faltered. "--You can eat in the teacher's lounge with us if you want," he said instead.

She arched an eyebrow. "I'll keep that in mind," she promised, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thanks."

Their conversation stayed with Tony the rest of the way home.

***

Bruce was in the living area when Tony arrived, test papers strewn all about the coffee table. "Hey," he murmured, pocketing his glasses when he saw Tony. He popped the cap back on his green pen (some shit about how red wasn't a good color to grade in -- Tony loved red. All the more reason to see the kids cry when he returned their practically bleeding test papers). "Have fun acting like a real teacher today?"

"Ha ha," Tony snorted, falling to the couch beside Bruce. He snuggled into the man's side and stole a sip of Bruce's coke. "Have fun being annoying?"

"Not one of your better comebacks," Bruce told him lightly, poking him with the pen. Tony batted his hand away. "What do you want to do for dinner?"

"A seven," Tony told Bruce, who paused at the mild outburst. "She gave her daily torment a seven. How have we not been seeing this, Bruce? How long have these kids been getting shit on while we just sit around with our thumbs up our asses?"

"Tony, she's not in our classes," Bruce soothed, bringing a hand to the nape of Tony's neck. "We can't be everywhere all the time."

"Then what the hell are we doing here?" Tony hissed, muscles tightening despite the other man's touch. "We're supposed to be better than this."

"Shh." Bruce dropped a kiss to Tony's temple. "You're doing something now. That's what's important."

"You're being way too calm about this," Tony muttered.

"You're being moody enough for the both of us," Bruce shot back, carding his fingers through Tony's hair before he could respond. "You're not perfect, okay? Stop holding yourself to impossible standards. It's one thing to not see something happening in front of your nose, but kids are sneakier these days. Just keep your eyes peeled and trust the kids will come to you if there's a problem."

"That's not good enough," Tony mumbled into Bruce's shoulder.

"I know." Bruce sighed. "But what else can we do?"

Tony made an indiscernible noise, then blurted, "Kids are shitheads."

"And this is a new development?" Bruce teased as Tony lifted his head up to glare at him. "Teenagers, Tony. _Teenagers_. They're never very pleasant."

"I was great when I was in highschool," Tony insisted.

"You were twelve," Bruce reminded him, "and still a dick."

"Ouch, baby, that hurts." Bruce rolled his eyes at Tony's dramatics, who merely flopped bonelessly back against the couch, throwing his legs across Bruce's lap. "Nope, nope, I'm officially too wounded to care. You've injured me down to the deepest depths of my soul, buttercup."

"Tony, get off, I have to finish grading." Bruce shoved half-heartedly at the other man's feet. "You are infuriating."

"You love me," Tony purred, stretching over the arm of the couch.

"Perhaps," Bruce allowed, fingers skimming Tony's bare ankle; Tony shivered. "Enough to sit here and listen to you whine all evening, at least."

"I do not _whine_ ," Tony said petulantly (though his tone of voice may have been so he could intentionally needle Bruce).

"You do," Bruce confirmed, patting Tony's knee. "What do you want to have for dinner?" he tried again, sneaking a peek at Tony.

Tony slowly sat up, leaning his cheek against the back cushion. "You make really good noodles," he mumbled, staring off into space.

"I make really good everything," Bruce countered; Tony slid his knees up to his chest and murmured something in agreement. Bruce sighed again. "Tony."

"I'm trying," he snapped, toes curling into the couch.

"I know you are," Bruce whispered, shifting closer and lacing his fingers behind Tony's head. "You're doing very well." He propped their foreheads together. "You're doing great," he continued, voice soft.

"Is it that time of year already?" Tony joked weakly before Bruce pressed their mouths firmly together. He inhaled loudly through his nose, one foot falling to the floor and yanking Bruce closer by the collar.

"I still have tests to grade," Bruce said against his lips, kneeling in between Tony's legs.

"Don't care," Tony told him and bit down on the man's jaw.

***

Thor was not a morning person.

Loki knew this; he'd been his brother's official alarm clock since Loki had been able to walk, practically. And it wasn't that Thor was irritable or snappish before seven: no, Loki's brother had this unbelievable trait where he was little more than a staggering meat suit right up until the point where Loki slipped a too sweet and spicy cup of tea under his nose. Thor would spend about forty-eight seconds staring blearily down at the offending beverage until he realized that, _yes _, _Loki brought him tea___. Thor would perk up just a hair, down it in three too-large swallows, and then demand another with a smile that Loki quietly thought could light up the sun.

It had, however, taken Loki many, many years to break his brother's obnoxious habit of smashing mugs in his pre-caffeinated state.

Loki could tell something was different, however, when on this particular morning, it took not three, but nearly _six_ cups of tea to break Thor out of his early morning stupor.

"Spend all night reading your fairytale book again?" Loki asked him, blindly holding out a plate behind him.

Thor grabbed the plate from him, scrubbing a hand over his face. "I went to bed first last night, brother; you know that," he muttered. He took a bite of toast and chewed it slowly, pensive. "I find myself to be a bit out of sorts today, I apologize."

Turning away from the stove at last, Loki shot his brother a semi-curious look. He placed the back of his hand to Thor's forehead. "Are you ill?" he queried, studying the blond's face.

"It is not my body that ails me," Thor murmured, leaning into the touch. "I just feel that there is something... thick about the air."

Loki nodded, removing his hand so he could brush a knuckle across the man's cheek. "Eat, then. I'm going to shower first."

Thor brightened, smiling suddenly at Loki. "I shall accompany you," he declared, shoving the rest of the toast in his mouth.

"You will not," Loki told him firmly. "You fall asleep in the bottom of the tub and get in the way of my routine."

"It is comfortable under the spray!" Thor said with a laugh. Standing there with the plate in his hand, he began stirring his eggs. "I will wash your back," he offered lightly around his fork.

Loki narrowed his eyes. "The second I turn the water on, you're going to sit down and go back to sleep. It defeats the entire purpose of force-feeding you six cups of tea."

"I will not," Thor solemnly promised, flashing bright puppy eyes at his brother.

Thor fell asleep anyway.

***

Fridays were always the least effective day to shove any sort of knowledge into highschool kids' brains, so (most of the time) Tony never even tried; he merely handed them worksheets meant to torture them to the deepest, darkest parts of their souls and watched their psyche's fall apart.

"I'm feeling generous today," Tony started, "so you get all class to work on this crap. Those who finish by the end of the period have the absolute pleasure of one of Mr. Parker's study guides. He's even seen the test, too, so it may actually be worth its shit."

Their eyes lit up with greedy determination.

Peter smirked when Tony returned to his desk. "Look at you: doing work."

"You and Bruce need to stop sassing me," Tony huffed, kicking back in his chair. "Ungrateful bastards, the both of you. You start doing this Monday so if you want me to not spend the rest of the year hiding in random classrooms, you'd better start exalting me."

"Whatever, pops," Peter remarked flippantly, scrolling through something on his phone. "What're we doing tonight, by the way?"

"I'm sorry, do you not know what the word 'exalting' means? I liked you better when you scared of everything here," Tony muttered, tossing a paperclip at the younger man.

"You said you were gonna add me to the wheel," Peter sing-songed, flicking the colorful clip back at him.

"I remember no such event," Tony said and flipped his nose up. "And we are actually going out tonight. Steve's little buddy Bucky flew into town and wants to go barhopping, so strap on your drinkin' boots, Petey."

"I'm beginning to think this is all an elaborate ruse just to see how stupid you guys can get me to act while wasted," Peter accused, squinting one eye at Tony.

Tony smiled beatifically. "What? No. Don't be silly, Petey," he drawled, waggling his eyebrows. "Why would we want to do that?"

"Because you're evil," Peter hissed, now fully glaring.

Later, as the students were shuffling out, study guides in hand (Peter had taken pity on their poor souls and given everyone a copy, regardless of whether or not they'd finished the worksheet), Tony noticed a few of the kids hovering by his bulletin board.

"You guys interested in joining?" Tony asked, jabbing a pen in the direction of the club sign.

"What's a, uh, QSA?" the dumb-looking one whose name Tony never bothered learning asked.

"The Queer-Straight Alliance is a club designed to create a safe social, emotional, and educational environment for gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, questioning, and otherwise queer and allied students, as well as to educate the school and community about other sexual orientation and gender-related issues and to battle harassment and/or violence towards queer people," Tony rattled off, one corner of his mouth quirking at their increasingly perplexed faces. 

"Wow, d'ya go to Wikipedia for that?" Peter piped up, carrying another stack of study guides out of their office.

"I, unlike you, do not need Wikipedia for that," Tony snarked, snatching the papers from Peter's hands. "Although you should probably write that down for Lindsey."

"Um, we're good thanks," the less dumb-looking one answered, shoving his friends out of the room.

"You probably shouldn't have overloaded them," Peter said with a little laugh, plopping down in the chair beside Tony as the next class started pouring in.

"Nah," Tony told him with a little wave. "That was perfectly informative."

One girl who could've been Bianca Marino's sister stopped at Tony's corkboard, one hand on her hip. "What, is this a fag club or something?" she asked, voice thick with pretension.

"Woooah," Tony said loudly, tearing a white slip off a stack on his desk. "To Coulson with you, missy."

"What, seriously?" she squeaked, suddenly deflating.

"One hundred percent," Tony confirmed, scribbling _Marino?_ across the top of the paper and waving it in her face. "I said you could curse; I never told you you could say derogatory bullshit. Coulson. You. Go." She left, practically seething.

"What, was this supposed to be a spoken rule?" Tony asked the class, arching a brow at them. "You guys are old enough to know the difference between what you can and can't say? Or do I have to break out the time-out stool and the naughty corner?"

Their silence spoke for them.

"Good," Tony affirmed, patting the stack of worksheets on his desk. "Worksheet time. If you finish it, Mr. Parker will give you a study guide for the test on Wednesday."

***

Tony should've known it wouldn't be that easy.

Lindsey popped her head into the teacher's lounge about midway through his lunch, all bright eyes and wobbling lip.

"Hey, kid," Tony greeted, wiping at his beard with a napkin. "Gonna eat lunch with us, or--?"

"They took down my signs," she blurted, jaw clenching. She sucked her lips in between her teeth and looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Tony stood, ignoring the worried glances of everyone else and leading her out into the empty hall. "Hey, hey, what happened?"

"I came in early to put up your stupid signs," she whispered, staring down at the tiled floor.

"Right, I was there, I gave them to you," Tony said slowly, nodding.

Lindsey ignored him, still clenching and unclenching her jaw. "And then I was on my way to lunch and saw that one of them was missing. Then I saw another one missing, so I went all around the school looking for them and they're all gone." She looked up at Tony, face contorted into something he'd always dubbed the 'teenage angst' look. "Then Dean Hill caught me without a hallpass and I cried in her office."

"Please don't cry," Tony pleaded, holding his hands up in what he hoped was a placating way. "Or wait until I go get somebody more equipped to handle this; I'm really very terrible with crying."

"I'm not going to cry," she insisted, finally bringing her gaze up from the floor. "I'm not that stupid."

"Never said you were, kid. Listen, we'll go break into Mr. Rogers' office and print out some more flyers, okay? No biggie," Tony said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder.

"Everything alright out here?" Steve asked, poking his upper body out of the lounge.

"You must have some sort of sixth sense for when people talk about you," Tony remarked with a little smirk. "We're going to break into your classroom and steal your printer."

"Lovely," he drawled, matching Tony's grin with a small one of his own. "Just lock it back when you're done, I guess."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Tony saluted, spinning Lindsey around. "Text me the deets for tonight?"

"Sure thing," Steve quipped, slipping back in to finish his lunch.

***

Maria caught the pair of them at the front of E-Hall. "Hey!" she called sharply, raising one hand. Lindsey shrunk into herself, but Tony returned the wave readily.

"Maria!" Tony crowed. "Sup?"

Maria thrust a stack of crisp, shiny papers into each of their hands. "I took the liberty of adding some fine print," she told them before turning on her heel and stalking down the next hall, clearly intent on searching for more victims.

"Fine print?" Tony echoed, staring down at the glossy signs.

Maria had apparently pasted the school logo to the bottom left corner of the papers, the bold, black print stating, ' _Any student found removing these signs will be subject to disciplinary action by one Maria Hill_ '.

"How'd she even get one of the club signs?" Lindsey asked, voice soft with awe.

"Oh, I totally gave her one this morning," Tony answered with a little wave.

Tony totally didn't.

***

If Peter thought spending Friday nights at Tony's house was exciting, then hanging out with Bucky and co. on a Friday was freakin' _extreme_.

"Shots!" Bucky ordered, carrying a tray of suspicious looking drinks over. Natasha took hers immediately, followed by Clint, Thor, and Loki.

Steve drank two shots, grimacing the entire time. "I need a chaser," he complained, wandering off towards the bar.

Peter, already a little wobbly, plucked one of the shot glasses from Bucky and downed it like a pro.

"Easy, tiger," Tony laughed. "Go easy on the kid, Barnes."

"Think of it as initiation," Bucky declared, eyes flashing dangerously. He drank his shot and offered the last two to Tony and Bruce.

"I thank you sir," Tony said with a smirk, shoving his into Bruce's waiting fingertips as he meandered after Steve.

"Wow," Peter sighed, head falling languidly against the back of the booth seat. "You guys are wow."

"You're adorable," Bucky told him with a cheeky grin, eyes glancing a cute blonde as she sauntered past. He smacked his hands on the table. "Alright! More drinks?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You just got drinks. Unless we're going to turn this into a marathon race: wait. You'll kill the baby otherwise."

"Not a baby," Peter insisted, face twitching. He snickered at her. "Nope."

"Right," Natasha said slowly, arching one perfect brow. She nudged Clint with her elbow. "Come cockblock while I dance."

"Mm, can do," Clint agreed, shuffling out after her, beer in hand.

"I'm gonna need a little break," Peter mumbled lazily, pressing the still-cool glass of his coke to his face. "You guys are all alcoholics."

"No, that would just be me," Tony laughed as he returned with a tall glass of something, Steve following close behind with a water and a beer.

Bruce perked, crooking a finger at Tony. He took a sip of Tony's drink and sighed softly. "You're not an alcoholic, hush," he said with a giddy little laugh.

"Ooo, somebody's tipsy," Tony noted, scooting back into the booth beside Peter by crawling over Bruce. He turned back to Bucky. "This is a cute little place, Barnes; where'd you find it?"

"Mm, that chick at the last place we went to told me she was coming here after she got off," Bucky replied, waggling his eyebrows. Tony gave him a high five and a dirty grin.

Loki sneered at them both. "Must you always think with your dicks, gentlemen?" he drawled, tongue laden with disgust.

"Maybe you should think with yours sometime, eh, Mr. Never-Been-Laid?" Tony retorted, taking another swig from his glass. "Make you more agreeable to be around."

"Oh, too harsh, Tony," Bruce whispered in his ear as Loki stormed off, Thor following close behind with an uncharacteristically firm glare at Tony.

Steve also levelled a look of disapproval at Tony, but Bucky gave him a wink that said he'd been thinking the exact same thing.

"What?" Tony hissed at Bruce. "If I apologize now, Loki'll throw me out the window."

"You sound like you're speaking from experience," Peter muttered suspiciously, curling up in the corner of the booth.

"Go say you're sorry," Bruce commanded, standing up so he could yank Tony out of the booth. "Don't get sidetracked."

"Yes, mom," Tony mocked, sticking his tongue at Bruce's back.

He found Loki on the other side of the bar, sulking in the corner beside Thor. "Listen, Loki," he started, hands jammed in his pockets.

"No, _you_ listen," Loki actually growled, arms crossed and fingers twitching restlessly on his biceps. "I don't _care_ how mercurial you feel here: you need to stop acting like a vicious bastard every time we go out to a bar. Honestly, I'm not even sure how the others haven't picked up on it yet. Either tell them you're an alcoholic or get over your petty little bullshit and drink yourself into a coma so I don't have to listen to you anymore."

"Brother," Thor murmured, uncertain as his eyes darted back and forth between the two of them.

"You got it, Laufeyson," Tony agreed, slipping a credit card out of his wallet. Holding it up between two fingers, he waved the bartender over. "Strongest whiskey you got," he requested, consciously turning his back to the two of them. "And thank you."

"Tony," Thor started again, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You have never mentioned this as a problem to us."

"Problem?" Tony laughed, smiling at Thor as he took the glass from the bartender. His hand shook. "Who said I have a problem?"

"Stop with your melodrama--" Loki spat.

Tony knocked back the drink and cringed, the back of his throat burning. "Two more," he managed, hopping up onto a now-empty bar stool.

"You honestly infuriate me," Loki snarled, grabbing a hold of Tony's wrist. "Do people actually put up with this diva routine?"

"It's a wonder," Tony said airily, grabbing one of the glasses up and drinking it just as quick as the last.

"I will retrieve Bruce," Thor announced, barrelling through the crowd in a way that managed to both be awkward and majestic.

"You are five," Loki told him. "You cannot behave this way simply because someone called you out on your bullshit."

"Do you mind? I'm drinking myself into a coma."

"Um," the bartender said.

"Kidding," Tony told him. He started on his third drink. "Two for my angry friend here, too."

"I will cause a scene," Loki hissed in his ear. "I will get us both thrown out of here."

"I really don't think you will," Tony challenged, sipping a bit slower from the glass now. "Two teachers get into a bar fight on a Friday night less than a month after the start of school? Doesn't sound like good 'keep your job material'."

"Why are you such an aggravating little pest?" Loki snapped. He snatched one of the glasses away, but Tony still grabbed the other. "I've half a mind to pitch a fit, anyway, damn the consequences."

"Born rich, daddy never loved me, clinically depressed, and I'm a shit teacher," Tony drawled, holding his drink up in a mock-toast. "What's your excuse?"

It took Loki a moment to realize that Tony was answering his question; his eyes widened as he stared right between Tony's eyes.

"No," Bruce said, suddenly shoving through the crowd. "No, no, no. _Tony_. Come on, we're leaving right now." He snapped his fingers at the bartender. "Close his tab. Please," he gritted out.

"Don't tell me what to do," Tony snipped waspishly. His fingers curled around his glass a bit tighter as he saw Steve and Thor a few paces behind. He couldn't spy Clint or Natasha anywhere, but Tony still had a sneaking suspicion they were just out of sight for a reason. "What, invite the whole gang to gawk?"

Bruce wrenched the glass from Tony and threw it on the ground; glass fragments crunched underfoot and whiskey splattered his shoes. A few people stared. The bartender yelled something. "You want to act this way, you can be _damn_ sure I'll act accordingly. Get _up_. We. Are. Leaving."

Tony stuttered when Bruce grabbed Tony by the wrist. "Bruce," he whispered.

"No. Tony, don't talk to me, don't look at me, don't _anything_ ," Bruce damn near shrieked as he pulled them out of the bar. "You're going to listen to me now. What happened to coming to me first? What happened to removing yourself from the situation before--?"

"I guess I'm just not that smart," Tony croaked, pressing a palm to his cheek as he felt the alcohol start to hit him. It was fantastic and terrible and exhilarating and sickening. "Bruce," he tried again.

"Shut _up_." Bruce crushed him in a hug. "I'm about three seconds away from slamming my fist into your jaw Anthony Stark, shut your goddamn mouth."

Tony held on tight. "Sorry," he mumbled, swaying on his feet. "Sorry, sorry, bumblebee, sorry."

"It happens," Bruce told him, voice tight. "It happens, I know it happens, nobody's perfect--"

"Stop listening to British pop," Tony said weakly. "I'm sorry, I just--"

"Shh," Bruce lulled, rocking Tony back and forth to cover up the apparent unsteadiness between the two of them. "No more Friday nights for us for awhile," he ordered softly.

"Deal," Tony agreed; he tightened his lips. "Bruce, I'm gonna--"

Bruce released him and spun Tony around, one hand on his shoulder as he retched onto the pavement. 

"Is he okay?" Steve asked quietly, hands twisted up in his jacket pockets.

Bruce looked up -- not startled, but he obviously hadn't heard Steve approach. "He'll be fine," he said, turning back to Tony to rub slow circles between his shoulder blades.

"What happened?"

"I'm an alcoholic," Tony rasped, arms trembling as he braced his hands on his thighs. "I fell off the wagon."

"Tony," Steve started; he hesitated briefly before pressing a cool hand to Tony's sweating face. He shared a look with Bruce, who nodded, trotting off to hail a cab. "Why didn't you tell us?"

"Didn't want to," Tony groused before his stomach rolled and he vomited again. "You guys have fun."

"There are other ways to have fun, Tony," Steve insisted, pulling his bangs out of his eyes. "Jesus, you do realize this, right now, is the opposite of fun?"

"It crossed my mind." Tony's voice cracked slightly and Steve grabbed his arm to help pull him upright. Tony spat on the ground.

Steve pulled out his cell as Bruce came back. He sent a text, first to Bucky letting him know he'd have to find his own ride home, then to Clint to make sure Bucky didn't give Peter alcohol poisoning.

"It's fine, it's fine," Bruce persisted weakly when Steve tried to follow them into the taxi. "I can handle it."

"No offense, Bruce, but you don't look much better than Tony right now," Steve told him, sliding a hand across Tony's hair in between them.

"I resent that," Tony muttered bitterly, face between his legs.

"Shut up, Tony," Bruce groaned. His head hit the back of the seat as he rattled off directions for the driver.

The drive was mostly silent, save for Tony's loud, slow breaths the entire way. When the three of them stumbled up to the front door, Jarvis let them in, hands wringing and face tight.

"He puked already, it's fine, Edwin," Bruce said, a comforting smile plastered on his face.

"It's far from fine," Jarvis replied easily (though Steve suspected it wasn't easily at all) with a jerky incline of his head. "I'm just going to head up to bed then."

"Goodnight, Jarvis," Steve whispered to him, unsurprised when the man neglected to respond.

"Let's just get him to bed," Bruce sighed wearily, leading them to the left towards Tony's room. He hesitated at the bedroom door. "I'm just going to get him some water."

"Sure thing." Steve nodded, hand on Tony's lower back. "Come on, Tony, bedtime."

"Not five," he grumbled, kicking off his shoes and falling face first on the sheets.

"Could've fooled me," Steve quipped, rolling him over. "You're not seriously going to sleep in your sick-clothes, come on." He made quick work of the shirt buttons, slipping it out from under him before tugging at Tony's pants. Tony muttered something into his pillow.

Bruce didn't return until after Steve had tucked him in. "Thank you," he whispered, setting the glass and medicine bottle on the nightstand.

"No problem." Steve turned his head to Bruce. "Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Of course," Bruce replied roughly. He gave a small start when Steve wrapped his arms around Bruce and squeezed.

"You looked like you could use a hug," Steve said as Bruce buried his face in his shoulder.

"Thanks," he mumbled into Steve's shirt. "I just. Thanks."

"Go get some sleep; I'll take over here." Bruce nodded, eyes bright in the dimly lit room and bid Steve goodnight, but instead of heading upstairs, Steve heard him shuffle into the bedroom right beside them.

Steve checked on Tony one more time before flicking off the bedside lamp and settling into the (what he'd always thought was superfluous, but was apparently very necessary) couch by the window. He closed his eyes and inhaled in deeply, trying not to think too hard on the soft hitches of breath and sudden, intermittent thuds he heard every so often from the next door over.


	4. TO THE FAIR!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow okay I'm so sorry this took so long, but every time I tried to write plot it became shmoop. It's a little shorter than normal, but next chapter should be a doozy with what I have planned. So please enjoy your feels and shmoop-filled chapter 8) Tune in next week for your regularly scheduled DRAMA TRAIN.

" _Please enter your passcode, then press pound_ \--" _beep_ "-- _One new message from_ Tony Stark. _To play this message, please pr_ \--"

 _Beep_.

" _Listen, Loki, you were totally right, I was being an ass and I took it out on you -- I shouldn't have_ \--"

"Loki, it is four in the morning," Thor grumbled, swatting at his brother's ribs. "Your telephone light is too bright."

"-- _so what do you say for old times' sake, you just sort of, I don't know, punch my lights out next time you see me_ \--?"

"Brother, what is the matter?" Thor asked quietly, lifting himself up on his elbows. He squinted his eyes and peered sleepily up at Loki.

" _I'm sorry_."

 _Beep_.

" _Message erased. Next message_ \--"

"Go back to sleep, brother," Loki soothed, brushing the long hair from Thor's face.

***

When Steve woke, the first grey-dawn light was peeking through the windows, bathing the room in healthy shadow. The curtains had been pulled back sometime during the night and the bathroom door was wide open. He sat up, surveying the room, and jumped to his feet when he saw the rumpled, but empty bed.

"Tony?" Steve called out softly, poking his head in the bathroom. He wasn't there either.

Steve cautiously tiptoed out into the hallway, ears open for any of the normal early morning sounds from the household. There was no loud rock music blasting from the garage, no brightly hummed tunes from Jarvis, nothing of Bruce's normal Saturday morning routine. 

"--so sorry, and I--"

Steve paused outside the bedroom, one hand paused on the wall.

"Tony, please, you don't have to apologize."

"But, I do, _I do_. Bruce, I fucked up--"

"It happens, Tony, it's _okay_ \--"

" _Bruce_."

"Tony, I'm not _Pepper_." Someone inhaled sharply, but Steve couldn't tell who. "I'm not going to leave you. I'm going to get pissed as hell when you act like a dick, but I'm not... I can't."

Steve knocked on the door and slipped his upper body in. Tony and Bruce were sitting in bed, backs against the headboard, Tony's head on the other man's shoulder. "Bruce, have you seen--oh." He smiled slightly, all the muscles in his face tense. "Nevermind. Found him."

"Sorry," Tony muttered, rubbing both hands over his face. "I always get... itchy after I drink now, I guess. Had to get up and move around." He stared up at Steve for what could have been forever, waiting for him to ask.

So Steve didn't. "I should probably get going," he said, unhinging his jaw, willing his face to relax. "I'll see you guys Monday, alright?"

"No, no, stay," Bruce insisted, hopping up off the bed. He stretched, joints popping and spine arching slightly. "I actually need some help moving some of the things around in the garage. I'll make breakfast?" he tried to bargain, grinning widely up at Steve.

"Sure," Steve replied lamely.

"Did you seriously wake up that way?" Tony blurted, narrowing one eye. "Like, your hair is goddamn _perfect_."

"Oh. What?" Steve ran a hand over his hand and said, "I never really do anything to it. I just comb it after I shower."

"Unbelievable," Tony grumbled, cracking a grin. He flopped over onto his stomach before wriggling off the mattress.

"Pancakes sound good?" Bruce asked on his way out the room.

Tony deflated at Bruce's departure; he looked up at Steve then, and Steve could see the bruises under his eyes and the wrinkles that hadn't been on his face yesterday. "He says it's okay," Tony said slowly, "but it's really not."

"Tony..." Steve sighed, jamming his hands in his pockets. "I don't know the whole story, but Bruce is your best friend. Alcohol addiction is a very serious problem, but it's not all your fault; it's a disease."

"Yeah, I know, I read the brochure," Tony muttered with a little wave. He sat back down on the bed. "My old man was an alcoholic. You'd think I'd know better -- growing up with that."

Steve plopped down beside him. "It's not that simple," Steve admitted; he threw an arm around Tony's shoulders and, when Tony didn't flinch away, drew him a little closer so that he was half-hugging the other man. "My dad was an alcoholic, too, you know."

"Is that supposed to be some sort of gibe?" Tony groused, shoulders stiffening. "Ha ha, I'm okay and you're not?"

Steve let him go, giving Tony a few inches of space. "No, I'm just... sorry I didn't notice. I should have."

"Yeah well," Tony snorted, "you know what they say about sneaky drunks."

Before Tony could sink any further into himself, Steve put his best teacher-face on. "Okay." He hopped up, dragging Tony with him. "I believe Bruce said something about pancakes?"

"Bruce's pancakes are awesome," Tony quipped lightly, following Steve out the door.

***

Jarvis cornered Tony between breakfast and the garage.

"If I may, sir?" he asked Tony, holding up a small case.

Bruce pulled a curious Steve away before he could say his question aloud; Tony nodded, plastering a not-quite-fake smile on.

"Sure thing, Jarvis," Tony managed roughly, patting the man on the shoulder before following him back through the kitchen and into the living room. Tony sat down on the couch sideways, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side.

Though he was expecting it, Tony still hissed lightly through his teeth when the cold steel of the stethoscope hit his back.

"And breathe in," Jarvis murmured, shifting the chestpiece. "And out."

"My lungs are fine," Tony promised, avoiding Jarvis' eyes as he moved to check Tony's heartbeat. "I'm fine."

"I will not bury another Stark," Edwin said, voice heavy in the wide and empty room. Carefully, he set down the stethoscope and pulled out a sphygmomanometer, wrapping the cuff around Tony's arm. He jammed his finger on the start button. "Do you hear me, Anthony?"

Tony stared at his feet. "I do."

Jarvis nodded, staring at the number on the screen before placing it back in the bag. He pressed a hand to Tony's face and tilted it upwards, eyes searching. "Very good, sir. Do you require anything else from me as of yet?"

"Nah, Jarvis, you're all good," Tony said, exhaling quietly through his nose. "We'll just be in the garage for now, I guess."

"I will not be the one cleaning up the mess you all make," Jarvis warned lightly, eyes crinkling at the edges.

"You always clean up my messes," Tony told him with a grin.

"Mm, well, perhaps I should stop. You've grown a bit lazy, sir."

" _Ouch_ , Jarvis. A bit mouthy today, aren't we?"

"Only to keep you on your toes, sir."

***

"You could help," Bruce suggested, eyes narrowed at Tony.

"Nah," Tony said, flicking another piece of popcorn in his mouth; he grimaced. "This shit's stale." He tossed the next kernel at Steve's back.

"If you throw _one_ more thing at me," Steve hissed, jaw ticking.

"You'll what?" Tony laughed. "Drop that giant filing cabinet on your toes?"

"At least he's not throwing combustibles at you," Bruce said, shoving the reinforced metal table more firmly against the wall.

"That was _one_ time," Tony insisted, hopping down from his stool to grab the other end of the table. "Relax jellybean."

"Trying to get on my good side, I see," Bruce said dryly. He nudged Tony with his elbow.

Tony bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning. "How else am I going to get you to cook for me?"

"You do realize there is more to my life than waiting on you hand and foot?" Bruce shook his head at Tony, but his eyes were bright with humor. "I have lab assignments to grade and test reviews to write and--"

"Boring!" Tony declared, grabbing a box of crap off the floor and throwing it on the table. "Man, how long are we gonna keep doing this?"

"We? _We_ ," Bruce jerked a hand between himself and Steve, "have been doing this for almost four hours. _You_ have been heckling us and trying to hit us with stale snacks."

Rock music blasted from Tony's pocket. "Trying to keep the team morale going," he joked, flicking his thumb up to deny the call.

Bruce arched a brow. "Pepper?" he asked cautiously.

"The woman's a ninja," Tony remarked, only half-kidding.

"You probably shouldn't have introduced her to Natasha then," Bruce laughed, moving the rest of the tools to the table. On the other side of the garage, Steve had finished shifting over both of the enormous metal cabinets and had started sweeping up the leftover debris. "Steve, it's fine, you don't have to do that."

"I'm already here -- 'might as well," Steve said with a little shrug, bending over to grab the woefully underused dustpan.

Bruce and Tony swallowed in tandem; Tony threw a dirty smirk in Bruce's direction. Bruce shot him a look and said loudly, "How about you go order pizza?"

"Sounds like a plan," Tony sang with an overly exaggerated wink on his way out the door.

"He didn't need to leave to order, did he?" Steve asked, mopping at the sweat on his face with his shirtsleeve.

Without missing a beat, Bruce explained, "When Tony's being an ass, I tell him to go order takeout. I mean, obviously he _will_ , of course, but it's just," Bruce let out another little laugh, "one of our things."

"You two have a lot of inside jokes," Steve murmured. His cheeks heated suddenly. "Not that, that's a bad thing, or anything. I just -- don't see a lot of that at school."

"Yes, well." Bruce pursed his lips to hide his smile. "I try to keep it somewhat professional at work."

The words were on the tip of Steve's tongue, but he held them back, a tiny wrinkle marring the smooth plane of his forehead.

Bruce looked appropriately contrite. "Except when it comes to Tony, of course." He snorted, running a hand through his dirty curls. "Tony aside, I just find it's always... better to keep a certain level of distance in the workplace."

Steve wondered if there was a story in there somewhere. "You don't act very distant at work," he replied, though the words were slow, unsure.

Bruce beamed widely, though the corners of his eyes remained smooth. "Of course," he said. He straightened then, tee clinging to his backside and wrinkled his nose. "We should probably shower before we eat. Do you still have a change of clothes here?"

"After the last time Clint heaved his bar food all over me? Oh yeah." Steve smirked, dusting his hands off on his now-filthy khakis. "Meet you in the dining room?"

Bruce matched his expression and inclined his head ever-so-slightly. "See you there."

***

Bruce, the most perfect of angels that he was, fielded all of Tony's calls. Curls cold and damp against his neck and a towel still around his waist, he flicked through the numbers one by one until he'd listened to all the voicemails and returned everyone's inquiries.

"Thank you so much for making sure Peter got home last night, Clint. Yes, Tony's alright; we just... hit a little snag. We'll have a group meeting about everything later, I promise."

"Natasha? Hi. He's fine. Yes. No. Wednesday? Probably. Thanks."

"Hi Peter, it's Bruce Banner. Listen -- and obviously, this has nothing to do with you -- Tony and I are going to have to skip the next few Friday nights. I just wanted you to know you're very much welcome with the rest of the group. They like you and I'm absolutely certain they want to hang out with you, too; we don't want you to feel like just because Tony isn't there that you can't be, alright? If you have any questions, call or text whenever. Thanks."

"Thank you so much for coming to get me last night, Thor. You did the right thing -- even if Tony's supreme stupidity probably made it seem the opposite. We're -- we're doing alright. Steve came over and he's helping run interference with Tony right now. And of course, I'll make sure Tony calls Loki later to -- oh. Oh, well. Alright. We'll talk Wednesday, okay?"

"Pepper? I've got him, don't worry. Of course. Of course. Goodbye, Pepper."

***

"Oh my god, why are you calling so early?" Bucky moaned as soon as the call connected.

"It's noon, Bucky." Steve didn't even bother to hide his laugh at his friend's pain. "What time did you get home last night?"

"What time did the sun come up?" he whined miserably. "Oh man, I don't even know where I _am_. Is this your room? I can't tell from under the bed. Holy shit, who are _you_?"

"Bucky," Steve started, horrified. "Please tell me you did not bring a girl back last night. Into my _bed_."

"I'm... not sure."

"You owe me a new mattress," Steve warned lowly, fingers clenching around the cell. "And new sheets. I better have a new bed by the time I get home, or I swear to god, Bucky--"

"Hey, I am an office worker!" Bucky grumbled. Steve heard a thump in the background, followed by a hushed giggle.

" _I'm_ a teacher!" Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. "New bed, Bucky. It better be there."

"The light hurts me," Bucky yowled, hanging up the phone.

***

Tony sat in the bottom of the shower, the temperature scalding hot, and stared at the water as it pooled and swirled down the drain.

"Like everything good in my life," he whispered hoarsely, trying desperately not to let the black monster clawing at the corner of his vision to overcome him.

***

Lunch was significantly less awkward than breakfast. Bruce wasn't hulking around like a wounded animal, Tony wasn't acting as if any and every movement would break something, and Steve had loosened up enough to actually _talk_.

Tony took a bite of pepperoni lovers. "Anyway, so we still need four more kids to join, but--"

"I had Jarvis throw all the alcohol out," Bruce said abruptly, folding his hands in front of him. He levelled an even stare at Tony. "And I'd feel more comfortable if we all got together and set up some sort of support network for you."

Well. So much for the easy atmosphere. Steve set his glass down and fisted his hands in his napkin. "I can leave if you--" he started.

"No. Stay, please," Bruce requested quietly, setting a hand on Steve's wrist. He grabbed Tony's hand with his free one. "I know you value your pride, Tony, but I'm pretty sure the cat's out of the bag anyway. I'm not doing this to humiliate you." Bruce swept a thumb across Tony's knuckles. "You won't go to AA or to any type of counseling; there's only so much I can do myself."

"Okay," Tony said easily, still staring down at the tabletop.

Bruce tightened his grip. "Okay?" he repeated hopefully.

Tony clung back, his knuckles white. "You're right."

"Whatever you need," Steve suddenly piped up before the silence suffocated him. "I'll help as much as I can, as well."

Tony finally looked up, eyes wide and dancing with too many emotions for him to count. "Thanks, Steve," he said, a little hoarse. He broke eye contact, teeth clenching together. "Bruce, you know what we haven't watched in awhile?"

"Oh no," he groaned, releasing them both and covering his face with his hands.

"Peachy-pie, can we watch Merlin?" Tony batted his lashes. "Pretty _please_?"

"What's Merlin?" Steve asked, missing the look of _no_ that flashed on Bruce's face.

"Only the _best_ show ever," Tony promised, eyes glittering.

***

"This show is terrible," Tony booed, curled up in the center of the couch, Bruce to his left. "These effects are terrible. Morgana, is all you do scream and have nightmares?"

Steve raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering between Tony and the television. "I thought you liked this show?"

"Are we watching the same thing?" Tony groused, stretching out and tugging Steve out of the armchair. "Come here and look at this monstrosity. The only special effect of real merit is the Dragon and he's a douche." He jabbed a finger at the screen. "A _douche_."

Steve settled in beside Tony and felt the tension literally melt out of the other man's spine. Bruce caught his eyes as Tony continued to jabber about Merlin and smiled indulgently, giving Steve a little nod.

Steve wasn't entirely sure how many episodes they watched, but when Bruce got up to go retrieve his bag so he could grade labs, he looked out the window and saw nothing but darkness.

"Oh, I should probably..." Steve tapped Tony on the shoulder, who'd shifted onto his side, his back pressed along Steve's rib cage, and shoved his feet into Bruce's empty spot on the couch.

"You shouldn't wake him," Bruce noted as he returned, lifting Tony's legs long enough to scoot back under them. He balanced his clipboard on Tony's knees and tipped it forward, green pen already perched between his fingertips. "He hasn't been sleeping well as it is and it's not likely to get better anytime soon."

"Why... doesn't he see someone?" Steve asked, voice hushed even with the television playing in the background.

Bruce side-eyed him. "When have you ever known Tony to willingly go see any type of doctor? Remember when he busted his arm two years ago?"

Steve covered his face to one hand. "Jesus, don't remind me. The bone was practically _sticking out_ and Clint had to almost whack him over the head before he'd let us take him to the emergency room."

"And that is why we don't let Tony play baseball," Bruce quipped, turning his attention back to the papers in front of him. His grip on the pen looked almost painful.

"Bruce?" Steve whispered, one hand reaching to turn down the volume.

The scritch of pen on paper echoed loudly in his ears. "Yes, Steve?"

"You don't need to--" and Bruce looked up sharply then, a thousand fires burning furiously in his eyes. Steve gulped, "--you don't need to put everything on your shoulders. Letting other people help, it's not... it's not giving up. Sometimes it's just not a one-man job. Sometimes you just a break."

Bruce deflated, just a hair. He sighed, letting his head tip back against the couch. "The thing about Tony is," he said to the ceiling with a faint smile, "well, you'll have to pardon the science metaphor, but. Tony is like the sun. And we're all just planets in his galaxy." He twisted his head around to face Steve, one hand casually braced against Tony's knee. "We can try and fight it, but we'll always rotate back towards him; our orbit will always bring us back. I couldn't take a break from him even if I wanted to."

"Pepper took a break," Steve reminded him carefully.

"Pepper is Pluto," Bruce retorted with a snort.

***

Comfortable as Tony's couch was, it was not the best idea for three grown men to sleep on it. Tony wasn't even sure how they'd managed it, actually; he only knew that he'd woken up with his head in Steve's lap, Steve precariously perched in the corner with his feet on the coffee table, and his feet in Bruce's, who'd somehow curled around Tony and kicked his legs over the other arm of the couch.

"We shall never speak of this again," Bruce muttered miserably, trying to roll the crick out of his neck.

"You ruin all my fun, cupcake," Tony simpered, having rolled to the floor and stretching out his limbs. "Obviously, we just need to get a bigger couch."

Steve, ears bright red, cleared his throat lightly. "I'm... just going to go shower and change before we go out."

"Wait, we?" Tony hauled himself up on his elbows, just barely missing the edge of the glass table. "Where are 'we' going?"

"Uh, the fair." Steve arched an eyebrow. "It's been going on all weekend. Today's the last day."

Tony balked. "I never said I was going to a fair."

Bruce swatted lightly at the back of his head. "We decided last night you need some good, clean fun."

"That is like," Tony made a sour face, "the worst kind of fun. Besides, my kids will be there. They're brats and don't need to know I'm not a robot that turns off on the weekend."

"You must be the worst robot ever," Bruce retorted lightly, running a hand through Tony's hair. "Now get up and shower like a big boy."

"Make me," Tony challenged, eyes narrowed as he tipped his head back and stared upside-down at Bruce.

"You do not want me to make you," Bruce warned. "Go now."

Tony stuck his tongue out and scooted from under the table a bit more, launching to his feet. He paused at the door. "Just how many sets of clothes do you have here anyway?" Tony asked suspiciously.

The corner of Steve's lips quirked. "I moved in while you were sleeping. Surprise."

Tony considered this. "Smartass," he eventually declared as he scampered out.

Tony tried to ignore the flutter in his belly all the way downstairs.

***

"You're seriously going to wear that monstrosity?" Tony asked incredulously, one eyebrow raised and hands jammed in his jean pockets.

Steve flipped the bottom of his tie up to look at it. "What's wrong with being patriotic?"

"It's not even _July_ ," Tony informed him with wide eyes. "Who wears the flag on a day that's not the Fourth of July?"

"Alright children," Bruce started, shoving them out the door. "Let's go before you start pinching each other."

The ride to the fairgrounds was short -- too short, in Tony's opinion, but at least Bruce was feeling magnanimous enough to let Tony put the top down. He stared out at the mass of teenage horrors, lips pulled back in a semi-sneer as Bruce shuffled them towards the ticket vendor. "I really don't want to be here," he protested again to the two of them. "Are you sure I can't just go home and work?"

"Oh my god, you baby, it's not actually _that_ bad," Bruce hissed, handing over a few bills and accepting the roll of burnt orange tickets. He snapped off a few and gave them to Tony. "Go get some cotton candy and stop whining."

"Hey Mr. Stark!"

Tony pulled the grimace off his face and a practiced, charming grin slipped on in its place. Behind his back, Bruce rolled his eyes. Steve hid his smile behind a well-executed cough. "Hey," he called, giving a little two-fingered wave. "What brings you ladies to the fair today?"

One of the girls shrugged. "Coach Odinson said he'd give us extra credit if we came out and played a few of the games."

"Really? Is he in the dunk tank again?" Tony wondered, eyes already alight with mischief.

One of Bruce's students zeroed in on him and Steve. "Dr. Banner, Mr. Rogers; how are you guys doing?"

"Very well, thank you. Enjoying your weekend?" Bruce replied, handing a handful of tickets over to Steve, as well.

"As long as you've finished all your homework already, of course," Steve piped up; he managed not to wilt against the the 'teenage fish' look she shot him.

"Yeah..." she said slowly. "All my homework's done."

"Great, awesome," Tony started, grabbing Bruce and Steve's arms and tugging them away. "Sorry to jet, girls, but I have it on good authority that Mr. Laufeyson's going in the dunk tank and I can't miss that or I might die -- Bye!"

"Is he really?" Steve asked, slightly startled.

"Well, Thor's running it -- so probably," Tony replied with a slightly manic grin. "Thor can get Loki to do anything."

"I'm sure that's an exaggeration," Bruce insisted, far more used to Tony's zig-zagging pace through crowds than Steve, who looked like he was about to be left in the dust. He curled his fingers around Steve's elbow, shoving through the throng of teenagers with relative ease.

"Not an exaggeration!" Tony called, slipping out of sight as he ducked around two extraordinarily large football playing seniors.

"Damn it, Tony," Bruce hissed, already pulling out his phone so he could tap out a text to the other man. "The fairground is huge -- it'll take us forever to find him again."

"He's like an eel," Steve muttered; he made a face and started to scan the crowd.

"What do you want to bet he's circling back to the car to leave us stranded?" Bruce quipped, eyes sliding shut as he heaved a full body sigh. "Let's just go check real quick."

***

"I don't know if we should do this," one boy whispered.

"I'm scared," another admitted.

Mr. Laufeyson glared stonily out at them all, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It was a glare that promised evil things: mass murder, skinned kittens, or even the worst thing of all: pop essay tests.

The boy at the front of the line gulped, the ball clutched tightly between his fingers.

"Hey buddy." Tony grinned at Loki through the metal grate; he wiggled his fingers at the surly teacher currently clad in a black tee and board shorts.

Loki's eyes took on a murderous edge. "What. Do you. Want?" he ground out through gritted teeth.

Tony edged around the dunk tank's fence, slipping a near paper-thin, black rectangle from his back pocket. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, presenting it to Loki.

Loki's glare softened a hair as he rose one eyebrow, gingerly taking the tiny plastic case from him. "Is this...?" he started softly, staring down at his hand.

"New beta for the StarkPhone," Tony confirmed. "Pepper literally just got the prototype like, last week."

Loki still had one brow arched. "And you're gifting me this because...?"

"I was a dick," Tony told him bluntly, hands now shoved deep in his ratty jean pockets. "And instead of accepting that and acting like an actual _adult_ about it, I brought you and Thor into my shit and put you on the spot."

"An apology _and_ a new phone," Loki murmured, lips finally curving into a thin grin. "My, my, I must be special. If I were a better person, I'd apologize as well for throwing the alcoholic into a pile of booze. But I'm not," Loki breezed, swiping the pad of one finger across the screen. The phone (and his face) lit up gleefully. "So you'll just have to settle for me taking your new and expensive phone."

"Deal," Tony agreed, a line of tension slipping out of his spine. "So--"

"I'll forgive you if you allow my brother and your idiot friends to help with your problem," Loki said with a little wave, still staring down at the beautiful bit of StarkTech. "I can only imagine how dull the school year would be if you were stuck in the hospital dying of liver failure. Oh, is that a--?"

"Well, gee, that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," Tony deadpanned as he rolled his eyes. "No, really, please continue.”

"Shut your mouth and let me-- _ffSHH_ ," Loki bit back a curse as he abruptly dropped into the tank and Tony managed to catch the short scruff of Clint's hair and a maniacal cackle as the offender sprinted around the corner.

"The phone's waterproof, by the way," Tony grinned, staring down in the water at Loki's dripping, snarling face.

***

Tony found Bruce and Steve about twenty minutes later, pacing by the car and throwing off some major negative vibes. "What, you guys didn't want cotton candy?" Tony asked, tearing off a strip of pink and stuffing it into his mouth. "You're the ones who dragged me here and here you are prowling by the car."

"You," Bruce tried, stabbing a finger in Tony's direction. He sighed again, cursing his existence, and grabbed a pinch of cotton candy. "You're impossible," he moaned softly, licking the sugar off his finger.

"You really shouldn't go wandering off like that," Steve admonished, hesitantly taking a tear from Tony.

"What are you, my mom?" Tony snorted. "Nice try, Rogers -- I'm a big boy now."

"Yes, you're just brimming with maturity," Bruce muttered, swatting lightly at the top of Tony's head. He reached for the candy again and glared when Tony snatched it away.

"Sorry, Bruce; only those willing to flatter can have my sweet, sweet treats," Tony drawled, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Friends!" a soaking wet Thor suddenly boomed, appearing from behind and yanking all three of them into a tight embrace. "My brother Loki informed me you all came to wish our dunking tank a great success!" He squeezed harder, ignoring Tony's squawks of protest. "It has filled me with happiness!"

"Thanks Thor," Bruce managed, brushing the now frizzy curls out of his face. "It's getting kind of hard to breathe in here, though."

"I'm fine," Steve replied easily, craning his neck around to look Thor in the eye. "How _is_ the dunk tank going, by the way?"

"Wonderful!" Thor declared, releasing all three of them as he threw his arms in the air. "Loki has taken over for me once again so that I might satisfy my hunger." Smiling broadly, he pulled Tony into another hug, his sopping wet hair sending rivulets of icy water down Tony's neck. "I am glad to see you well, Tony. And Loki assures me your gift will be well-used."

"Gift?" Bruce piped up, one eye squinting suspiciously. 

"What gift, pudding pop?" Tony asked innocently, trying to extract himself from Thor's arms.

Steve, meanwhile, was scavenging what was left of the cotton candy. "My life was so much less confusing before you all started teaching here," Steve remarked cheerfully, staring off into space, reminiscing. 

"Did you--?" Bruce's eyes widened. "You gave him your new phone. _Tony_ ," he hissed. "I wanted that phone."

"I'll make you a better one," Tony promised, face still half-smushed into Thor's chest. His shirt was starting to lean more towards drenched than damp. "It'll be amazing and I'll make it yellow and it'll have a hidden snack compartment."

"I don't know any of them," Peter told Lindsey from a safe distance, grinning at her derisive snort.

She coughed to cover it up. "Well that makes two of us, because I definitely don't know those clowns, either."

"I love clowns," a taller brunette piped up as he strolled from the way of a concession stand. A handful of purple and white scars curved around his face and hands.

Lindsey rolled her eyes and curled her lip. "Pete, this is my cousin Wade. Wade, Peter. Glad you two could meet," she muttered in exasperation.

"Hello," Peter greeted, extending his hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Hello yourself," Wade purred, flashing a bright grin. "The pleasure's _all_ mine."

"You are an embarrassment to everything I know and cherish," Lindsey groaned, smacking a hand to her face.

***

Natasha inhaled deep through her nose, kept her gaze locked on the target, drew back her arm, and fired.

The dart hit the balloon with ease and she tossed another and another, until all the balloons had been successfully popped.

Natasha grinned. "I'll take that one," she ordered, extending one hand to accept the giant purple elephant. Natasha's lashes lowered softly and her smile deepened as she crouched down to eye-level with Sophia. "This is the one you were looking at, right?"

"Yeah," the little girl answered quietly, eyes wide and bright as she gratefully grabbed at the stuffed toy. "Fanks."

Natasha ruffled the kid's hair affectionately. Her face was starting to hurt. "You want to get some ice cream?"

"I'm lack-toes-tolered," Sophia recited dutifully with a little pout. "Can I have funnel cake i'stead?"

"You can have whatever you want," Natasha promised, standing up to grab Sophia's free hand. "So how old are you, Sophia?"

"I'm free," she said, looking around at the bustling people in awe. She clung tighter to Natasha. "This place is big."

"It is very big," Natasha agreed, leading them over to the stand and stuffing a handful of tickets in the jar in exchange for funnel cake. She hooked an arm around Sophia's waist and hauled her in the air, lips twisting fondly at the squeal she emitted. "You seem to be having problems with your th's," Natasha noted when they sat, dragging a sugar covered piece of funnel cake sneakily away and into her mouth.

"Yeah," she said sullenly, handing the elephant over to Natasha so she could dig into her pastry. "Dey're hard."

Natasha found herself smiling again. "They were hard for me too, when I first moved to America."

Sophia looked up then, mouth already coated with white powder. "Where you from?" she wondered.

"Russia," Natasha said, stealing another bite from the toddler's plate.

Sophia stuck her tongue out and yanked the funnel cake back. "What's Russia like?"

"Very cold," Natasha told her, eyes crinkling faintly.

"Sophia, _oh my god_ ," a teenage girl cried out, shoving her way over to the picnic table. "Ms. Romanoff, I am so sorry -- thank you for finding my sister, I was _freaking_ out."

Natasha's face went slack before the anger even registered. "She's three," Natasha practically growled. "What do you expect a three year old to be able to do lost at the fair?"

"I'm so, so sorry," she continued, eyes filling with tears.

"Apologies are useless in these scenarios." Natasha pulled a napkin from her pocket. She wiped delicately at Sophia's face. "You either keep an eye on your sister or she wanders off and that's on _you_." Natasha brushed a hand over the little girl's hair one more time. "Now that you've found your sister, I'm gonna go, alright?"

"Kay," she said quietly, blinking up at Natasha. "Can we hang out again?"

Natasha dropped a kiss to Sophia's forehead. "If it's okay with your parents."

"Kay," she said again, this time beaming brightly. "Bye, Tasha!"

"Bye bye," she whispered with a little wave.

"You're really good with kids," Clint commented, sliding onto the bench beside her.

"Following me, were you?" Natasha asked with an arch of her brow.

"You mean you didn't see me?" Clint teased, drifting a hand up to toy with the curls at the nape of her neck. "Super ninja losing her touch?"

"We will see who's losing what later," Natasha warned, picking at the non-obliterated half of the funnel cake.

"Oh, ow, Nat, I'm totally kidding," Clint laughed. "Do you--" He lowered his voice a bit. "Do you want kids?"

Natasha exhaled through her nose, humming softly. "No," she eventually answered. "I think not."

***

"No, come on, I'm serious." Steve literally put his foot down. "We cannot come to the fair and _not_ ride the ferris wheel."

"Why, is that un-American or something?" Tony snorted, finishing off the last of his corn dog. He tossed the stick in the trash.

"So funny," Steve said dryly, pointing at the ferris wheel. "It's gonna close soon and I would like to ride it before they pack it up and haul it away."

"I will _buy_ you a ferris wheel," Tony offered, already turning back towards the parking lot.

"Nope." Bruce grabbed the back of Tony's shirt collar. "Come on now, man up."

"I don't like this new alliance between you two," Tony accused, lips pulled back in a sneer. 

"Tough," Steve beamed, he and Bruce steering Tony back towards the dwindling line. "Oh, if we're lucky, we'll manage to see the sunset."

Tony rolled his eyes and grudgingly allowed himself to be tugged into the fray. Despite the fact that it was the last night of the fair, there weren't that many people waiting to ride the ferris wheel. "This is a terrible idea," Tony muttered, destroying a zombie on one of his little phone games. "Ferris wheels are lame."

"You are the worst person ever," Bruce announced, elbowing Tony. "Let Steve have his fun."

"Have I mentioned how much your new friendship frightens me?" Tony drawled, eyes flicking up to them momentarily. "I had enough mothering before you two decided to gang up on me."

Steve rolled his eyes. "More like not enough."

"He's questioning your mommy skills, Bruce," Tony quipped.

"No, he's appropriately stating how much of a handful _you_ are," Bruce shot back, hand braced at the small of Tony's back. "Into the car with you."

Tony, to perhaps prove how much of a handful he actually was, sandwiched himself between Steve and Bruce and lounged heavily across both of them.

Bruce sighed, but when he snuck a peek at Steve, the other man was grinning at the two of them, all teeth. "You smile now, but just wait: he'll have you pulling your hair out in a week."

"You weirdo, we hang out with Steve every week," Tony retorted, eyes glued to the scenery before them despite all his whining and groaning before.

Steve's smile softened. "The dynamic's a little different than our normal Friday nights," he said, tossing an arm along the back of the seat so he could stretch his bad shoulder.

"If you say so," Tony muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching. When they reached the top, Tony let a soft breath out. "Fine, fine, it's not so bad up here."

"Told you," Bruce huffed, holding back a shiver as Steve's fingertips accidentally grazed the back of his neck.

The ride back down was quiet, but comfortable.

***

Bucky, god bless his soul, really _did_ buy Steve a new mattress and sheets to go along with it. 


	5. When Shit Hits the Fan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, wow, so I'm not going to lie to you, this chapter is very, very heavy. I had problems writing it and both of my betas had trouble reading it in parts. There's also a few more trigger warnings than normal (skip this next little section if you don't want to be spoiled): detailed discussions/depictions of alcoholism and depression, mentions of past miscarriage, homophobia-related violence, extreme homophobic language, and kids being big fat dickheads.  
> Now that all that's out of the way, please enjoy your new set of feels 8') /throws everything

The club signs were still up on Monday (or, at least most of them were), so Tony counted it as a win. That paired with spending a majority of the wee morning hours elbow-deep in computer parts and Jarvis' mind-blowing french toast for breakfast left Tony in an extraordinarily good mood.

Said good mood, however, lasted until Tony stepped foot in the teacher's lounge. Specifically because Clint was waiting for him, suspicious-looking purple drink in hand.

"What the hell is this?" Tony asked, staring at the smoothie cup.

"Acai berry smoothie with ground flax seed," Clint answered, a pleased grin stretching over his face. He shook the cup for Tony to take. "It's good for you."

"... I'll just stick to our shitty coffee, thanks," Tony said slowly; he started to shuffle around Clint, who still had his arm outstretched in Tony's personal space. "I don't like being handed stuff, anyway."

Over by the counter, without even looking up from her lesson plans, Natasha threw one arm up and sent the coffee maker careening to the floor. It seemed to survive the incident relatively unscatched until Natasha slammed the heel of her boot into the carafe. "Oops," she said 'apologetically', never looking up from her clipboard.

"What," Tony whispered, "the _fuck_? Also, what is your shoe _made of_?"

"Woman, you did not just break my goddamn coffee pot," Logan growled from the corner.

Natasha shot him a cold stare. " _Oops_ ," she repeated, blinking once.

"So, smoothie?" Clint prompted again, jiggling the cup back and forth.

Tony sighed and took the offensive beverage. "Why do I get the feeling Bruce had something to do with this?"

"Did you also believe the moon-landing was fake, too, Mr. Paranoid Conspiracy Theorist?" Peter joked, sliding in to grab a freshly toasted bagel. "He's been in his class for like twenty minutes already, by the way."

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Just for that, I'm not bailing you out when the students pounce on you like wolves to a wounded baby lamb."

"Somehow, I think I'll survive," Peter sang airily as he slipped back out.

Still squinting in what he hoped appeared to be a menacing glare at the empty space Peter had just occupied, Tony took a hesitant sip of the smoothie. Then he switched his glare to Clint, strode over to the fridge so he could toss his lunchbox in it, and stalked out the door before Clint could say, "I told you so."

Tony bumped into Steve in the hallway. He rose an eyebrow and grinned. "Late again, Mr. Rogers?"

Steve's smile was only a little bashful. "Had to drive Bucky to the airport this morning," he explained, skimming a hand over his tie to check for wrinkles.

Tony blinked. "Already? Didn't he just get here?"

Steve gave a little shrug. "Had to get back to D.C. Where are you off to, anyway? Isn't Peter teaching your classes?"

"Natasha broke the coffee maker," Tony informed him, his eyes letting Steve know how much the fact hurt his soul.

"Why would she do that?" Steve asked, his own eyes widening a bit.

"Hell if I know," Tony muttered, swallowing another gulp of his sweet smoothie. "To torture me, probably."

Steve snorted. "I'm sure that's not true."

Tony arched a brow. "You don't know what she's capable of," he whispered theatrically; at the other end of the hall, Tony saw Hill starting her morning patrol and he took a step back. "And that's my cue to disappear till lunchtime. Peace!" he called, flashing two fingers as he disappeared down C Hall.

***

Peter's patience lasted until about the fifth note being passed around. He capped his marker and dropped it to the lip with a clatter, gliding through the rows of students and snatching up three separate little squares of paper. Tony's unused coffee mug made for a handy receptacle as he stated loudly, "Mr. Stark might not care if you listen to the lectures, but I do. Please pay attention and you can have these back at the end of class."

 _That_ certainly shut them up quickly enough. With a pleased grin, he turned his attention back to the board and continued, "So say a vicious velociraptor with a mass of thirteen kilograms takes thirty seconds from standstill to reaches forty miles an hour. At this point, what's its force?" Peter helpfully doodled an amazing velociraptor on the board, squiggly motion lines and everything. And because he was feeling especially generous, Peter also scribbled all the equations they'd need right above it.

"Er... ninety-two?" one of the boys asked more than answered, one finger raised hesitantly.

"Ninety-two what?" Peter arched a brow, turning back around to face the class. "Also, no, check your math, bro."

The girl that actually _did_ turn out to be Bianca Marino's little sister rolled her eyes and raised her hand. "Seventeen point three three newtons," she recited, clapping the cover back on her calculator.

"Awesome," Peter grinned. "Wanna come up to the board and show us how you did it?"

"Not really," she said, turning back to her notebook.

Peter's lips thinned. Did high schoolers have no sense of humor these days? He wasn't _that_ old. "Ookay," he drawled; Peter turned back to the board and began writing everything out for the rest of the class. "The easiest way to remember where everything plugs in is just to memorize the units. Force is in newtons, mass in kilograms, and acceleration in meters per second squared -- that squared part is super important actually, because otherwise it's just velocity."

Peter heard the sly rustle of a paper behind him, but when he'd turned back around, nothing seemed amiss.

***

"El cielo está gris otra vez, hoy," Natasha mentioned to her students. "Qué lástima; yo estaba disfrutando del sol." She spotted a student who looked about two seconds from falling asleep at her desk. "Señorita Beck, no hay siestas en mi clase."

She snapped to attention. "Lo siento, Señora Romanoff."

Natasha hummed. "Bueno, cuéntame de su emocionante noche."

"¿Qué?" she said, her eyes widening in horror.

"Disculpe," Natasha corrected sharply. "Si está tratando de dormir en mi salón de clases, tiene que haber una razón."

"Yo," she started weakly; she toyed with a lock of extraordinarily fluffy hair, "tengo...tarea," she finished.

"Usted tuvo tarea," Natasha amended, a little softer. "Pero, se diría 'tuve que hacer tarea'."

"Gracias," Lindsey mumbled sourly, wiggling a bit in her seat.

One of the girls on the other side of the room giggled, so Natasha locked onto her next target. "¿Y usted? ¿Qué hizo este fin de semana pasado?" 

The offending girl blinked slowly, her jaw dropping open. Natasha sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

It was going to be a long class.

***

Lindsey sidled her way into Tony's classroom midway through third period. Peter looked up from his new collection of students' notes and said suspiciously, "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

She held up a hall pass. "Had to pee," she retorted with her usual amount of sass. Lindsey faltered then. "Is uh, Mr. Stark here?"

"Nah, he's off hiding now that he's got me to do his dirty work." Peter snorted. "Is it a Tony-specific need or do you just want me to pass along the message?"

"Ah, just," and Lindsey let out a shy smile then, "tell him I may have found a someone who wants to join the club."

"Sweet, awesome," Peter grinned, folding up a piece of paper containing information he never needed to know about underage girls _ever_. He flicked the note in the trash and resisted the urge to burn it. "Friend from a class?"

"Maybe," Lindsey drawled noncommittally, trying to squash her grin down. "We'll see."

 _Oh_. It was _that_ kind of friend, then.

"Hey, cool beans," Peter grinned, swiping a hand across the desk to toss the rest of the (boring) notes in the trashcan. "Don't think you can distract me from my teacherly duties, though -- to class with you!" He pointed dramatically to the door.

Lindsey rolled her eyes. "Bye, Mr. Parker."

Tony appeared sometime later, just as the lunch bell was ringing. "Hey, Petey, what's kickin'?"

Peter snorted, eyes darting to the clock. "Just enjoying a truly wonderful day at EMHS. Why didn't you just go straight to the lounge?"

"So I can walk with my wonderful Bee-Bee-buttercup!" Tony sang loudly in the direction of the classroom opposite them.

Bruce stuck his head out, face twisted into something indiscernible. "Wow. You're not even trying anymore, are you?"

"Oh, come on!" Tony insisted, throwing an arm up. "Bee-Bee: Bruce Banner? It's clever."

"That's feeble at best," Bruce responded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your wit is slipping, Tony."

"I'm going to tell Jarvis to stop packing your lunch," Tony threatened, eyes narrowed.

"Not a butler, my _ass_ ," Peter grumbled, rolling his eyes as he slipped out around them. "Get a room, you guys."

"We're in one!" Tony leered, jabbing blindly towards Peter's retreating back.

Bruce sighed, only partially annoyed, and spun Tony around. "Come on, then: lunchtime."

"Yes, _mom_."

Tony and Bruce were the last of their group in the lounge, but Steve had saved two seats for them: one beside and one across from him. Tony snaked the chair beside Steve and shot a dirty smirk at Bruce.

"You're a child," he told Tony fondly, sitting opposite Steve and opening up their massive lunchbox. Bruce tossed a hunk of foil at Tony. "Jarvis commands you eat real food today, by the way."

"Apples aren't real food?" Tony asked, suspiciously peeling back the aluminum.

"No, Tony. Not enough for a grown man, at least," Steve said, wiping a splash of mustard from his lip. Bruce's eyes caught the motion, but then turned back to his own sandwich. "Jarvis went through all the trouble of making that for you--" Steve continued, mother-hen power fully activated.

"Woah, hey, relax, Rogers, look--" Tony took a large chomp out of said chicken sandwich. "--I'm eating," he finished, hackles rising. This whole thing was actually _really_ starting to grate on Tony's nerves. He wasn't five and he wasn't an invalid -- Tony was completely capable of taking care of himself, his lapse Friday night notwithstanding. 

Under the table, Bruce slipped his foot out to affectionately bump Tony's shin. Above the table, he held out an apple, eyes soft in a way he usually saved for less-professional occasions. It meant Bruce was exhausted and Tony wondered then how long Bruce had been so tired, and how much longer he'd be willing to put up with Tony's bullshit.

Tony rolled his eyes, snatching the fruit away. "Yeah, fine, truce," he acquiesced, bopping the toe of his shoe back at Bruce.

"I really feel like I missed an entire conversation here," Steve interjected, waving a hand between them. 

"Sorry Steve," Tony quipped with a quirk of his lips. "You gotta learn the super secret handshake before you're granted your telepathic bro-powers."

Bruce reached over and pinched Tony's hand. "I'll teach you the super secret handshake, Steve, don't worry," Bruce said, amused.

"Yeah, I _bet_ you'll teach him a hand trick or two," Tony muttered under his breath, yelping as Bruce's fingertips assaulted the tender flesh of Tony's inner arm.

Steve laughed at them both, obviously missing Tony's words, but entertained all the same. "Handshake, right."

At the other end of the table, Natasha shot the three an assessing look and Clint smiled into his lunch tray.

***

"Mr. Barton?"

Clint looked up from his book, smiling lightly. "Yes, ma'am?"

The girl fidgeted. "Can I have a hall pass?"

When it came to girls, Clint never wanted to know. "Sure thing," he hummed, grabbing a pen out of his junk tray and scribbling onto a random paper.

"Thanks," Kelsey gushed, grabbing the slip from his outstretched hand and heading for the door. She faltered at his bulletin board and Clint could see a tiny furrow in her brow.

"Ms. Birch?" Clint prompted, making a slight shooing motion when she started and turned back to him. He turned back to his class to ensure they were still doing their exercise on task and turned back to _The Siege_ , grabbing a post-it note so he could make a small notation for later. "Good essay topic," he murmured aloud, sticking it to the page.

As Clint was slipping out for a snack break, a gaping hole in the center of his board caused him to pause. He frowned. "Hey," he called to his class; thankfully, most of them looked up at his voice. He tapped the empty space on his corkboard. "Who messed with my board?"

Clint felt more than heard or saw the room tense. Frown deepening, he continued with, "Do we need to go over classroom rules again?" Still, they were silent. "No one is allowed to put up or take off papers without my permission." Clint turned a stern look to them, sighed, and went over to his desk, grabbing one of the dozens of copies Tony had saddled him with. He pinned the new poster up. "Please leave this up."

Clint made a mental note to ensure that sign stayed on the board.

***

Tony's phone buzzed in his back pocket and he plucked it up without bothering to check the caller ID. "Sup?" he shouted over the music, phone jammed between his ear and shoulder.

"Do you know what time it is?" Bruce growled into the phone.

"Uhh," Tony grimaced, turning down the volume, "ten?" he guessed.

"Later," Bruce hissed; Tony heard him Bruce shift and a blanket rustle. Well shit, if Bruce had gone to bed, it had to be at least eleven. Tony opened his mouth, but Bruce beat him to it, "Tony it's after midnight on a school night. Please go to bed -- or at least turn the music down. I can hear you all the way in my room."

"But I'm making things!" Tony insisted, nearly dropping a screwdriver. "Fun things that light up and make sweet noises and-- Bruce?" Tony looked down at the phone; had Bruce hung up on him? Oh, his hands were trembling. Had he hung up on Bruce?

Bruce burst through the garage door not a minute later. Carefully extracting the screwdriver from Tony's grip, Bruce grabbed the other man's wrist and tugged him away from the heap of scrap metal surrounding them both. "Let's try this again," Bruce rumbled, voice low. He hooked the fingers of his other hand into Tony's belt loop. "Come to bed?" he asked roughly, curls bouncing at Bruce tilted his face to peer up at Tony.

"Oh, wow, yeah, I am totally down with that," Tony babbled, letting Bruce lead him away.

***

"Another smoothie?" Tony was saying. "Seriously Clint? Just let me have my damn coffee."

"This is better for you." Clint shook the cup at Tony.

"What's _better_ for me is making it through the day without strangling a student," Tony hissed, trying to scoot around Clint. "Coffee is what helps me supress my killing urges."

"Who's to say that a little mango-orange smoothie won't soothe the savage beast within?" Clint teased, still trying to shove the smoothie into Tony's hands.

"Is this your way of flirting?" Tony smirked. "Because, I'm flattered, but you're really not my type, Clint."

"Stop trying to twist my goodwill into something dirty, Stark." Clint laughed anyway. "Just take the damn drink before Natasha breaks the new coffee pot."

"You drive a hard bargain, Barton," Tony sighed, staring forlornly at the coffee maker on the counter. "I'll be back for you later," he whispered to it.

Peter smirked and returned to his bagel, chewing thoughtfully as he marked another note in Tony's -- _his_ \-- lesson plan. Despite the easy atmosphere in the lounge, there was an odd tension buzzing around the school and if anyone else felt it, they certainly weren't mentioning it.

People whispered in the halls, passed notes in class, and okay, yes, _all_ teenagers did that, but there was definitely something _weird_ going on. It was almost as if someone (everyone?) was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the big finale, for --

"Come here often, handsome?"

Peter started, papers flying from his hands. "Jesus _Christ_ ," he hissed, looking up at Wade's grinning face. "Sneak much, bro? Also, you are definitely not a high school student, so."

If at all possible, Wade's smile widened. He tapped the visitor's badge, singing, "Lindsey-bear forgot her books this morning -- had to bring them over. You don't happen to know where I could find her, do you?"

"She has third period with Mr. McCoy," Peter answered slowly, still crouched on the ground and gathering up papers. The least he could do was help, having caused said avalanche of Peter's things and all. "Janet didn't tell you where to find her?"

"Who?" Wade asked sunnily.

Peter squinted at the edge of Wade's jacket then. "Is that _my_ guest badge?" he squawked.

"Books," Wade repeated helpfully, thrusting said stack in front of Peter's nose.

"I'm just gonna take my nametag back now," Peter told him, tugging the badge off Wade's jacket so he could clip it to his own belt loop. "Mr. McCoy's class is at the end of the hall on the right, by the way." When Wade didn't move, Peter pointed behind them. "That way."

Wade blinked, looking down at Peter again. "Oh. Thanks Pete," he said, twirling on his heel and bouncing off.

Wow. Okay. What had he been internally monologuing before? Oh, right: creepy student vibes.

Peter shook his head, grabbing the handle to the classroom door. "Who's the paranoid conspiracy theorist now, Peter?" he murmured to himself. All conversation stopped as Peter entered the room.

Maybe Peter was going crazy.

***

"Mother, please," Thor insisted, trying to gather all the dishes up before the older woman could get to them. "We have no more room in our freezer -- please stop bringing your casseroles."

"Oh nonsense!" Frigga replied, slapping his hands away and stacking said dishes up; seconds later, Thor heard water running and porcelain clanking. "Growing boys need lots of good food, Thor."

"I am nearly thirty, Mother; I'm certain I've stopped growing. _Mother_ , let me do the dishes," Thor sighed, trying to worm around her. Why hadn't he done the dishes before she came over? A little voice in the back of his mind (one that sounded suspiciously like Loki's voice, actually) whispered that it was because she never called before coming over. Thor resisted the strong ( _very_ strong) urge to pout at her.

"Fine, fine!" Frigga said, throwing her arms up in the air. Thor called it a victory until he heard her rummaging around in the bottom of their fridge. " _Thor_ , where are all your veggies?" She straightened, peering into the freezer to ensure it really _was_ full. "I know you boys know how to shop -- where are your fruits? Thor!"

Thor moaned, " _Mother_."

"If we thought we could fit any of our own food in our fridge, maybe we'd buy some," Loki quipped, gliding in to hand Thor a stack of glasses.

Thor wondered if perhaps sometimes his brother merely laid in wait for the perfect opportunity to swoop in and deliver a witty comeback.

"Loki!" Frigga beamed, wrapping her dainty arms around Loki's neck and pulling him down. She pressed a soft kiss to his forehead. "Where were you, dear? You missed dinner. You look so skinny, let me look at you." Frigga wrapped long fingers around Loki's biceps and squeezed. "Thor, what have you been feeding your brother? He looks like a skeleton!"

Thor wondered if it were possible to die of embarrassment. It certainly felt that way every time their mother visited. "Mother, Loki knows how to eat: he is naturally slim." 

"I should make you a lasagna," Frigga tutted, running her hands along Loki's cheekbones, through his hair. "You look tired, dear. Have you been sleeping well?"

"I have been sleeping fine enough, Mother," Loki promised. His eyes glinted then and Thor felt his stomach plummet. "It's actually Thor that has been having a little trouble with insomnia lately."

"Oh, no!" Frigga whirled around so she could yank Thor's face down to eye level with her. "What's the matter, dear?"

"I am sure it is nothing, Mother," Thor swore, large hands clasping hers so he could claim his cheeks back. "I merely find myself feeling a slight unease as of late."

Frigga's eyes searched her son's. "Is there a source to it?" she murmured, fingers curling around Thor's wrists. "Are you boys in danger?"

"So dramatic," Loki said with a little laugh. He lightly kissed the crown of her head. "Mother, calm down. We are fine, we are well fed. You can return home and tell all your friends your sons are well."

Frigga, still frowning, suggested, "You could visit and tell them yourselves."

"We are teachers, mother," Thor laughed, gathering the woman in his arms for one final hug. "Perhaps this summer?"

"I will hold you boys to this," Frigga threatened with a grin, tapping a fingertip to Thor's nose, then Loki's. "Oh, yes, I almost forgot: Thor, I baked a few pies for you boys. Come down to the car and help me carry them up."

Thor sighed.

***

"No, please, I hate feelings," Tony moaned, wondering silently if he could find a way to escape his own home without detection.

"You said you would do this," Bruce said firmly, fingers tightly wrapped around Tony's wrist; Bruce had a feeling that Tony would bolt if he let go. "We're doing this _for_ you, not to you, remember?"

"Yeah, but." Tony threw his free arm in the air, possibly looking as emotionally stunted as he felt.

"Yes, I know, feelings give you hives." Bruce smiled lightly and tugged at him again. "Come on, we're your friends, Tony. The sooner you go in there, the sooner we can get this over with."

Tony rolled his eyes despite himself; he sighed long-sufferingly, allowing Bruce to yank him along. " _Fine_. I've already given Fury an hour of my half-day, what's another another in the name of," Tony sneered, "feelings."

Bruce muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, " _Drama queen_ ," before pulling him into the media room. The way everyone was lounging about made it seem like any other Friday night, but Steve straightened his spine when they entered -- and wasn't _that_ just intimidating?

"Peter's not here?" Tony asked before he could stop himself.

Bruce glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, blinking in surprise. "I wasn't sure you'd want him to come. He's only been here a couple weeks, after all."

"No, it's." Tony rubbed at his face, suddenly exhausted. "It's fine. Let's just do this." Tony fell the cushions in his normal position, only mildly curious at the fact that Steve had taken over Clint's usual spot on the couch. When Bruce took a seat to his left, Tony blurted, "I'm not really sure how this shit's supposed to go, but can we just skip the whole 'we're here for you' crap?"

Bruce smacked him in the shoulder half-heartedly.

Clint frowned softly from his spot on the floor, elbows resting on the coffee table. He peered around to see if anyone was going to bother speaking first, but when nothing happened, he sighed. "Look, Tony," Clint started. "I've known you for five years -- and that's still the shortest out of all of us. You've known Steve for a decade, Bruce for eight, Thor and Loki for six and some change, and Natasha for--" Clint shot a mild questioning glance at Natasha.

Natasha pursed her lips. "Too long," she admitted, tucking her legs under her.

"Way too long," Tony agreed with a slight quirk of his mouth.

"Anyway," Clint continued, "what I'm getting at is that if we were gonna bail, we would've done it years ago. Learning this one little factoid about you isn't going to change our friendship -- I mean, well, duh, obviously we're not gonna party every Friday night anymore but--"

"This is what I wanted to avoid," Tony interjected. "You guys don't have to avoid drinking around me just because I'm--" He faltered for a second, "an alcoholic," he finished, a low mutter.

"I'd hardly call it fair to bring alcohol into the house of an alcoholic," Natasha piped up, tapping the rim of her glasses thoughtfully. "You wouldn't stick Steve in a room full of American flags and tell him not to touch any of them and then expect him to be okay with that, would you?"

" _Hey_. That is a completely inaccurate assessment of my personality," Steve said with a slight frown.

Natasha smirked. "It's really not."

" _Any_ way," Clint repeated, corners of his mouth twitching, "to go right to the heart of what you'd rather jump off a cliff than hear: we _are_ here for you. Besides," and Clint smirked this time, "it's not like we have a choice; Erskine's the only school that would hire _any_ of us--"

" _I_ chose to work there," Steve muttered sourly.

"--and without you, the whole place would pretty much go to shit." Clint slapped the glass then. "And done. I've said my piece."

"That's touching, really," Tony told him.

"Hush," Bruce chided.

"I shall speak next," Thor announced, rising from the loveseat. He strode over, gathering Tony in his arms and squeezing Tony tight; Tony felt something important pop in his back. "You are perhaps one of my dearest friends, Tony," he boomed, lifting Tony off the ground swaying from side to side. "And I wish to help you in any way possible!"

"Thor, I can't _breathe_ ," Tony wheezed.

"My mother always informed me that hugging was the best medicine," Thor continued cheerily. "And if it is not, then you are welcome to come by and tell me of your woes any time -- that is what friends are for, if nothing else!"

"I _really_ \--" Tony tried again.

"Thor, please put him down," Steve whispered, fighting back a grin of amusement. 

Tony practically collapsed back on the couch and Bruce took the opportunity to speak up. "Basically, Tony, we all want you to know that if you need to talk to someone about anything at all -- even though you won't --" Bruce side-eyed him, "we're all ready and willing to listen. And even if you don't think you need to talk, we'll be there for you, anyway. No one's putting you down or saying this will be an easy fix," Bruce clasped Tony's hand and Tony could feel Steve tense a bit, "but we're in this for the long haul. We all care about you, Tony."

"Except for me," Loki divulged, inspecting his nails. "I could be gone next week and never spare another thought for you again, Stark."

Tony choked on a laugh, feeling his throat tighten. "That's how I prefer it, actually, Loki."

"Stark," Natasha had slipped her stockinged feet back to the floor, elbows braced on her thighs, chin on her clasped fingers, "Depression sucks. Addiction sucks. Being alone while dealing with it sucks more. Let us help you shoulder some of that burden."

"Who said anything about depression?" Tony joked weakly, clinging desperately to Bruce's hand.

Natasha closed her eyes briefly. "When I was younger," Natasha murmured, staring straight at Tony, expression carefully cold, "in Russia, I became pregnant." She practically felt Clint stop breathing. "I knew I could not keep it, but I lost it before I made the decision to do anything about it."

Tony's felt something in his chest splinter. "Natasha, I--"

"I know depression," she finished quietly, finally tearing her gaze away and to the floor. "I was alone. But you are not."

"I need to--" Tony gasped hoarsely.

"Go," Bruce allowed, relinquishing his hold on Tony so the other man could bolt. He set a careful hand on Steve's shoulder. "He's had enough," Bruce whispered to him; he turned back to Natasha. Clint was ghostly white beside her. "I am so sorry, Natasha; I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you."

"One little factoid isn't going to change our friendship," Natasha recalled, pulling a smile to her face. "It has long since stopped bothering me. Besides, we are here for Tony today, not me."

Bruce still pulled her tightly in his arms. "Thank you so much," he told her as her spine gradually relaxed. He gave her a bit of space and said to the rest of them, "Thank you all for coming. You all are welcome to stay if you'd like, but I'm sure you all have things you'd rather be doing right now than this. See you tomorrow?"

There was a sticky tension in the room as everyone traded hugs -- even Loki held Natasha in a quick embrace. When everyone had filtered out but Steve, Bruce let himself crumple back onto the couch.

"I can stay if you want," Steve offered quietly, chewing at a piece of skin on his lip.

"I would... really appreciate that," Bruce whispered, hauling himself back up. He closed his eyes and rubbed tentatively at his lids. "Thanks."

Steve, after a slight hesitation, dropped his hand to Bruce's hair as he'd seen Bruce do to Tony many times before. He gave the man's scalp a slightly scratch, gut twisting at the way Bruce shivered.

Then Bruce ducked out from under Steve's hand. "Come on," he urged, fingertips grazing Steve's elbow as he stood. "Tony needs his space right now, but let's go see if Jarvis has any chores we can do."

***

Tony turned the music up as loud as it would go before slamming his fists to the metal table against the garage wall. With a swipe of his arms, the parts that littered the surface went clanging to the floor. Tony couldn't hear it over the music and, frankly, didn't want to. He punched the table again, muscles spasming as he tried to relax his hands.

"Fuck," he hissed, forehead dropping to the table as he drew a ragged breath. " _Fuck_."

Tony wasn't sure how long he stood there, bent awkwardly over the table, but his spine burned like fire. Slowly, he stood, kinks popping and moved across the room to turn the music off. Tony's ears rung. He stumbled out of the garage, somehow managing to make it into the kitchen. Bruce and Steve were there, quietly handwashing some of his family's old china. Tony let out a soft breath at the sight. 

Bruce turned around immediately, setting the clean plate back in the sink. Steve followed suit, eyes flickering between them.

"Maybe we should try medication again," Tony slowly confessed, hating every syllable. "Maybe I should--"

"Shh," Bruce soothed, striding forward and sliding wet hands around him. Tony felt Bruce's head jerk and, after a second, Steve's arms wrapped around them both. "If you want to try medication again, we can do that," Bruce murmured. "That means you'll have to talk to a psychiatrist, though."

"Yeah," Tony said. His eyes fluttered shut as he allowed himself to sink into the hugs. "I know."

***

They'd both been in bed in the dark for hours when Clint whispered to her bare shoulder, "I didn't know you had a miscarriage."

Neither her breathing nor her demeanor changed, but Clint could tell she was awake anyway. "I didn't think it was important," she said after a moment. Then she reached back, grabbed his hand, and threaded their fingers together. She slid their hands forward to rest across her abdomen. "Do you want kids, Clint?" she asked quietly.

Clint squeezed her hand tighter. "Not if you don't."

Natasha let out a shallow breath and burrowed deeper into Clint's arms.

***

Thursday and the first half of Friday were relatively normal, if you discounted Thor's continued attempt to drive Tony to an early, hug-induced death.

"Friend Tony -- it is time for your treatment!" Thor beamed, bursting into Tony's empty classroom. "Come now and allow me to embrace you heartily!" Before Tony could scramble away, Thor had already lifted him into the air, damp biceps sticking to Tony's shirtsleeves.

"Please tell me you showered before running over here, at least," Tony gasped out, glaring as he heard Peter's cellphone camera click again. "Peter I will hurt you."

"This is way too great an opportunity to pass up," Peter quipped, nabbing a few more pictures before pocketing his phone. "What kind of illness requires Thor-hugs every other period?"

"I've got a bad case of terrible friends," Tony wheezed, feet hovering a few inches above the ground; he felt short and tiny and it wasn't fair. "It's terminal, I'm afraid."

"Ah, but this is not the only reason I have come here during your free time," Thor confessed, releasing Tony. "I have two students in my first period who wish to join your new club!"

"Hey awesome," Tony confirmed, lips pulling into a real grin. "Tell 'em to come by and put their names down ASAP. Now we just need to sucker one more brat in and we've got a real club."

Peter smiled and tucked the tests he'd been grading into a random desk drawer. "Clubs like these get more popular as the school year goes on; we just need to get the ball rolling."

"Look at you, Mr. Wisdom Words," Tony quipped, reaching over to ruffle Peter's hair; Peter snorted and waved him off. "Our baby's growing up."

"Thanks, _mom_ ," Peter drawled, rolling his eyes. The bell rang and he hopped out of his chair. "I'm gonna see if I can make it to the lounge before Logan snags my lunch again."

"Start packing crap he doesn't like if you don't want him to eat it!" Tony called out with a laugh.

"Is there _anything_ he doesn't like?" Peter asked as he slid out of the class.

Tony shot a quick look to Thor, who shrugged. "I shall wait for you and Bruce," Thor told him.

Tony grinned, clapping Thor on the shoulder. "Sure thing," he confirmed. Waltzing his way over to their office, Tony sang, "Oh, cinnamon bun!" Bruce popped his head through the other door. "Ready to go?"

"Just one second," Bruce requested, slinking back into his class. "One of the groups made a huge mess in their labs and didn't clean it up before going to lunch." Bruce growled, the sound audible even in Tony's class. "You know what? Just go ahead. This is going to take a while and I want to make sure I've got all their names down so I can give them a firm lecture."

"Oh, you bad boy," Tony teased. "You sure you want us to go ahead without you?"

"Certain," Bruce sighed. "See you hopefully within the next fifteen minutes."

"Alright, Thor, that's our cue!" Tony crowed, pushing the blond out the door. "Come on, come on, lunch is a' callin'!"

About halfway to the cafeteria, Tony cursed. "Shit. I forgot to lock up my classroom -- let me just," Tony waved Thor ahead, pulling out his cell.

_B can you lock my class for me?_

_/sigh. Yes Tony, I'll lock your class for you. ETA is 10 minutes._

_Sweet_ , Tony texted back, dropping the phone back in his pocket.

Two kids practically sprinted past him and Tony barely made it out of the line of fire in time. "Woah!" he called, one hand on the wall. "What the hell?"

Instead of answering, the teens slammed the glass doors to the courtyard open and dashed outside. Tony heard shouting.

"What the hell?" Tony repeated, jogging over to look outside. " _Shit_. Hey!" Tony yelled, bursting through the doors.

There was a thick group of students in a semi-circle standing in the courtyard, some watching in horrified fascination, others in downright glee as Thomas Beacon beat the ever-living shit out of some skinny freshman. Lindsey stood just barely off to the side, a red and purple bruise already forming on her face.

" _Hey_!" Tony snarled, shoving through the throng of teenagers. "What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" He moved to grab Thomas, who took a swing at him and Tony hissed, "You hit a teacher and that is automatic expulsion, buddy! Where the hell is Dean Hill?"

Lindsey finally seemed to notice him. She hiccuped loudly. "I-I think she's-s eating lunch," she blubbered, one hand against her cheek.

"Go _get_ her!" Tony ordered firmly, wrapping his arms around Thomas' waist and jerking him back. "Break it up -- everybody calm the _fuck_ down!" Tony practically threw the jock to the side and knelt down next to the still-prone boy. "Hey," Tony urged, fingers lightly skimming over his bloody face. "Kid. You okay?"

"He _started_ it!" Thomas insisted angrily, chest still heaving. 

"I don't want to hear any shit from you right now, Beacon," Tony growled, still leaning over the skinny mess on the ground.

"He's right," the other boy hissed, gingerly sitting up. One eye was nearly swollen shut, but he glared viciously at Thomas with the other one. "I punched him first."

"He is twice your size, you idiot," Tony said, helping the boy stand.

"He called me a faggot," the boy continued; he pursed his lips before spitting a mouthful of blood on the grass. "And he called that other girl a dyke. So I punched him."

"You are a faggot!" Thomas hissed, taking a step towards them. "You're a stupid faggot--"

"Back off!" Tony ground out, but neither boy seemed interested in listening.

"--joining a stupid faggot club -- and I've got my first amendment right to say what I want," Thomas finished with a dark frown.

"Okay, A: this is a goddamn public high school and you are not allowed to threaten or harass other students," Tony told him, still bodily between the two. "And B: you just beat the shit out of him, so I'm pretty sure--"

"He started it!" Thomas said again.

"Have you seen his face?" Tony shot back. Hill finally pushed her way through the still-growing group of kids and Tony exhaled softly. About damn time. "Also, what exactly is your problem with having an LGBT club?"

"Stark," Maria said to announce her presence. Tony chose to ignore it.

Thomas rolled his eyes. "It's for faggots--"

"You watch your mouth," Maria ordered, slipping past Tony to grab the boy's ear and yank hard. Lindsey was still nowhere to be seen.

Tony's patience snapped. "So you have a problem with queer people, is that it?" Thomas' jaw tightened. More people were filtering in the sidelines. "Do you have a problem with me?"

"What?" Thomas asked then, faltering.

"Do you have a problem with me?" Tony said again, eyes narrowed. Thomas shook his head. "I'm bisexual -- that falls under the definition of queer, doesn't it? Do you have a problem with me now?"

"You're a fag?" Thomas blurted out and Maria jerked his ear again.

"I am beginning to think you don't know the meaning of the word," Tony said through gritted teeth. In his pocket, his phone buzzed. Tony's eyes flicked from side to side and he saw the majority of the first lunch teachers attempting to send the students inside.

"That's enough," Maria hissed; she pointed at the other boy. "You come with me, too."

"Mr. Stark?" Steve said hesitantly, and that's when Tony turned around and saw everyone in the courtyard staring at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, also super sorry if you guys got like 18273o8 notifications for this; AO3 was being a butt B|


	6. Wow, Jeez, Have ALL the Fights, Why Don't You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow jeez, I'm so sorry this took so long, but school just started and I spent a great majority of my time trying not to fall in into a giant heap of OVERWHELMED. Also, all the notes I had for this chapter proved to be useless, because this all takes place within like a 12-hour period yikes.
> 
> UwU~ Please enjoy regardless, my sweet readers ♥

Tony Stark was, in general, a very public sort of person. He was born with the paparazzi banging down the door and spent a great deal of his day to day life telling anyone and everyone shit that they couldn't care less about. He bragged about his sex life to his friends, flaunted his company's latest technological advancements, and smiled dutifully every time a camera lense turned his way.

There was, however, a distinct difference between the attention of a horde of reporters he couldn't give two shits about and a school full of teenagers he saw five days a week, nine months a year, over four-year spans. Teenagers who were, in fact, currently staring at Tony as if he'd just donned a garish metal suit and started flying laps around the courtyard.

"Mr. Stark?" Steve said again and Tony snapped out of his reverie.

"Yeah, Steve, what?" Tony asked, eyes straying to his hands. Shit. Blood. But not his own -- a _child's_ blood. Tony shook his head. "I gotta go talk to Fury."

Steve's teeth clanked as he shut his jaw, mindful of the students.

Tony zeroed in on Bruce hovering by the double doors, whose smile was only slightly tired. "I brought your lunch," he told Tony affectionately, holding out the super-sized lunch box.

"Thanks, bumblebee," Tony whispered, fingers oh-so-carefully not grazing Bruce's wrist as the whispers started, hushed tidbits of gossip buzzing at the edge of his periphery. Some students even pulled out their cellphones, tapping readily at the the screens despite the teachers there. Tony strode through the double doors with purpose, straight-backed and hands carefully unclenched.

"Tony, _wait_."

Tony looked up to see that Steve had followed him; he scowled. He could feel a slight pressure building behind his eyeballs. "What?"

"You--" Steve faltered for a second, waiting for them to slip past the windows so the kids couldn't see. He lowered his voice to a hush, "you never told me you were bisexual."

"Are we really having this conversation right now? That's what you got out of all this?" Tony asked (Steve? Himself?) incredulously. "I thought it was kind of obvious, Rogers -- you know, the whole asking you out thing." He made a face then, as if he'd sucked into his mouth an entire carton of sliced lemons. "Look, I'm not going to -- you don't have to worry about anything, Steve. I'm not gonna bother you about it anymore and I won't." Tony made a vague gesture to finish the sentence. _I won't out you_. "I'm the one who just came out to the whole of first lunch, remember?"

"That's not what I was implying," Steve replied, a tinge of frustration slipping into his tone. "Tony--"

"I gotta see a man about a thing," Tony interrupted, pressing a hand to his temple as he turned on his heel and left Steve standing in the corridor.

***

"Yes, yes, we've all had an exciting day, woo fight!" Peter drawled, raising his eyes to the sky at the teenagers' unending chatter. "Now who wants to hear more about the wonderful world of Kinematics?"

A kid that Peter recognized played on the football team raised his hand. "Uh, where's Mr. Stark?"

Peter sighed; of course they'd want to talk about that. Like Tony was ever in class, anyway. "Mr. Stark had to go talk to Principal Fury."

"Is Thomas gonna get suspended?"

Peter pursed his lips. _Let me take out my crystal ball and look it up_. "That's not really something we should be talking about. Anyway, moving on--"

"What about that other kid?" one of Marino's friends piped up.

Peter snapped. "All of these things fall under the category of 'None of Your Business'. Now, we are going to solve these equations and it can either be for fun or I can mark it up as a quiz grade. Your choice." Peter turned back to the board and wondered if he'd just started a war.

***

"Seriously, Nick? Have you _seen_ the kid?" Tony barked, arms crossed over his chest.

"Mr. Muñoz threw the first punch," Maria retorted. She mirrored his stance, fixing Tony with a cool glare. "The rules about fighting are clearly stated in the student handbook."

"Then give him detention!" Tony threw his hands up in the air. "You're seriously going to suspend the kid for sticking up for another student?"

"Violence is not the answer, Stark," Fury answered. He hadn't moved an inch since Tony had arrived, save for a slight twitch of his brow. "He could've gone to any member of the faculty. I can't suspend Beacon and just give Muñoz a detention -- that's favoritism."

"Right, because we've been doing a bangup job of everything so far. Who do you think put that bruise on Lindsey Beck's face?" Tony hissed. "Suspend him for that or for his hate speech." He strode up to Fury's desk and planted his palms flat on it, fingernails curling into the smooth wood. "And if that's not enough to warrant a little extra punishment? How about you suspend him for takin' a swing at me or calling a teacher a fag? Maria was _actually_ there for that last bit, by the way." Tony's eyes narrowed. "I'm all for justice, Fury, but this kid didn't do enough to warrant a suspension."

Fury's eye flicked over to Maria and she nodded once. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Fury sighed, the sound letting Tony know _exactly_ how he felt about this whole thing. "Fine. A week's detention and you get the pleasure of supervising. You know I'm gonna have to listen to Victor's bitching for the next three hours for suspending his running back, don't you?"

"Coach Doom and Gloom can kiss my ass," Tony snarked; with a twirl of his hand in the air, he continued with, "And honestly? I feel like we should be giving him a medal."

"We can't all get what we want, Stark," Fury deadpanned. "Now get the fuck out of my office."

"Sir, yes sir!" Tony called, giving the other man a mock-salute as he turned on his heel and strode out. Instead of heading back to his hall, however, Tony veered left and slipped into the nurse's office. Lindsey wasn't there, but the Muñoz kid was. "Sup?" Tony greeted, falling into the empty chair beside him.

Muñoz jerked, a glob of partially clotted blood falling from his nose. Tony grimaced and pulled out a fancy handkerchief that someone's European grandmother had probably stitched by hand; the teenager eyed it dubiously, but Tony waved him on. "Thanks," he said after a moment, dabbing the soft cloth against his nostril. "Uh. I'm just waiting for my parents. Lindsey's taking a nap in there, by the way; her mom can't get off work, so her cousin's coming to get her."

"Nah, that's cool, I wanted to talk to you anyway," Tony told him with a little wave of his hand. He regarded the kid thoughtfully. "Do I have you in my class?"

"No, but I take Dr. Banner seventh period," Muñoz answered, moving the handkerchief so he could press it against a spectacular contusion on his forehead.

Tony whistled. "Jesus, Beacon really did a number on you, huh?"

Muñoz made a face. "Dude's got like, a hundred pounds on me. It wasn't exactly an even match."

Tony took out his phone and started texting obnoxious emoticons to Peter. "Then why'd you hit him?"

"Just 'cause he's bigger than me, doesn't mean he gets a free pass to do whatever he wants to." Muñoz shrugged one shoulder, staring at the ground with fire in his eyes. "He took one of her flyers and when she tried to take it back, elbowed her in the face. I mean, I'm pretty sure it was an accident, but then he laughed at her and called her some awful names and, well. That's just not right."

Tony felt his blood boil and resisted the urge to go find Thomas Beacon and shove his head into some concrete. Muñoz side-eyed him. "Am I going to get suspended?" he asked suddenly, returning the cloth to his nose.

"Nah, you get a week's detention with me." This time Tony shrugged. "Figured your face was punishment enough without putting _that_ mark on your record."

"Oh." Muñoz looked oddly relieved. "Thanks." He looked away again and muttered, half under his breath, "So, is it, ah, true?"

Tony was too drained to beat around the bush. "That I'm bisexual? Yeah," he said breezily, leaning back in the hard plastic chair.

"Well, I'm gay so," he blurted. He pursed his lips tightly together for a second. "Not that I'm hitting on you or anything -- you're like old. Well, not old, but. Shit. Can I join your club?" he finished, looking like he wanted to melt into the floor.

Tony snorted, closing his eyes so he could have a quiet laugh to himself. "Great, I'm old. Sign up sheet's in my office. I'll put your name down for you since it looks like you've got an irate mommy honing in on your most likely now-grounded butt." Tony pointed at the stern-looking woman who'd just strode in.

"Thanks," he whispered gratefully, eyeing his mother with something akin to terror in his eyes. "Armando Muñoz, but everyone calls me Darwin."

"Not sure that's much of an improvement," Tony answered with a laugh, giving a three fingered wave as he slipped out before the yelling could start.

***

Loki stalked into class, three minutes late, and slammed a textbook down on his desk, effectively silencing each one of the gossiping little wretches. "Books away," he ordered as he slid into his chair. "Pens out -- black, or I will deduct points. You will all write three full pages -- neatly printed and without skipping lines -- about Leonardo da Vinci's and Michelangelo's contributions to the Renaissance period and the how they influence the world today. It is due on my desk at the end of class."

Loki watched the color drain out of their sad faces pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, the hard, sleek case tight in his grip. White knuckled, Loki set the phone in his lap so none of the students could see his hands shake.

 _Brother_ , he tapped out silently, fingers slipping over the touchscreen clumsily. The autocorrect must have been somewhat psychic, because it seemed to know what he was trying to say, _what if they find out?_

The response was immediate, the phone buzzing near silently in Loki's hands.

_Who will tell them?_

Loki's eyes glanced over his students once more before he continued. _Silent tongues do not guarantee a secret kept._

 _Brother, hush. No one will know until we are ready to tell_.

Loki blinked back a sudden wave of emotion. _I will never be ready._

Thor's next message came slower, Loki gnawing on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from flipping the desk.

_Then no one shall know._

***

Thor stared down at his mobile phone screen, face pulled tight into an unreadable expression. Then he closed his eyes and shook his head, slipping the phone into his pocket. He boomed, "Today, we shall be playing the dodging of the balls!"

***

"I know I don't hear you gossiping instead of doing your vocab exercises," Clint piped from his desk, not bothering to tear his gaze from his book. He made a tiny note in the margins. "Your next quiz is on Monday, so I'd be studying if I were you." The whispering died down a bit at that and Clint rolled his eyes. Teenagers. Honestly.

"Mr. Barton?"

Clint looked up and saw one of the boys with his hand half-raised. "Yes, Mr. Webber?"

"Can I go to the restroom?"

 _You were just at lunch -- don't think I don't know what you're up to, you little sneak._ "Sure thing," Clint said aloud, grabbing a pen to scribble out a hall pass. He folded it into a tiny paper airplane and tossed it in a smooth arc so that it landed perfectly in the center of Dash's desk. He smirked; the students were always thoroughly charmed by his superior aim.

Clint noticed Dash falter by his bulletin board and he called out, "That sign is staying up, Mr. Webber."

At the end of his next class, Clint meandered up to the front of the room to ensure that Dash hadn't messed with the poster anyway. It hadn't been removed per se, but when he went searching for it, Clint realized that someone ( _or some_ ones, Clint thought wryly) had covered the club sign with various other announcements that had been accumulated on his board. Clint shook his head and shifted the papers around again so that everything was visible.

The little shits were getting smarter.

***

Tony paced, his head still stinging with the remnants of a migraine, his limbs laden and jittery all at once.

"You're making me dizzy, Tony," Bruce clucked, waving a hand to beckon Tony over. "Seriously, I can feel my blood pressure rising just looking at you."

With a sigh, Tony fell onto the couch beside Bruce and slid his head into the junction of the man's neck and shoulder. "I'm overreacting, I know. But did you see her _face_ , Bruce? That little shit hit her and then _laughed_ about it."

Bruce carded his fingers gently through Tony's hair. "You can change that, you know," he told Tony. "I know you didn't have the greatest time in school, but you can make it better for these kids."

"Please," Tony snorted, leaning into the touch. "I was so popular." Bruce held his tongue, but Tony heard it anyway. _No, you weren't_.

"Come on, what's the worst that could happen?" Bruce whispered instead as he cupped Tony's face; he pressed a gentle kiss to the man's scruff, hooking one leg around Tony's so he could cuddle closer. "You came out to your students -- so what?"

"You did not just say that," Tony moaned in response. With a highly embellished pout, Tony curled his fingers around Bruce's hips. "That's like, nature's way of inviting every single terrible thing that could happen ever into my life."

"It's only a big deal if you let it be," Bruce told him, inhaling sharply as Tony's teeth grazed his neck. "Someone's in the mood. Don't you have a date later?"

"Cancelled," Tony murmured into Bruce's jaw. "Feeling in more of a dick mood tonight."

Bruce snorted, quirking a brow. "I see how it is." He brushed his thumbs lightly against a strip of exposed skin just above Tony's jeans.

"Mmhmm," Tony agreed, latching onto Bruce's earlobe. The doorbell rang.

"Did you just hear something?" Bruce wondered, voice soft and just a little breathy as he pulled back.

"Nope," Tony said with finality as he yanked Bruce down on top of him. 

Downstairs, Jarvis answered the door impeccably as always, but there was a note of uncertainty in his voice as he let Steve in. "I was under the impression that you all would be postponing your Friday night gatherings for the time being," he said, walking with Steve through the foyer and up the stairs.

"Yeah, but I thought I'd give Tony and Bruce some company anyway," Steve said with a little shrug.

Jarvis smiled fondly, glancing at Steve out of the corner of his eyes. "They are in the media room at the moment. I would join you, but I am on my way out."

"Hot date, Jarvis?" Steve asked with a wink and a light nudge.

The grin Jarvis shot back at him was positively wolfish. "As a matter of fact, I do. Have a pleasant evening, Steven."

"Go Jarvis," Steve called out, grinning at the older man's back. Making his way into the game room, Steve sighed and said, "Tony, you are _ridiculous_ ," as he snatched up the remote and turned off the most likely long-forgotten movie playing on the screen.

Then Steve heard a moan, low and heady and full of heat.

He froze, eyes straying to the not-quite-closed door to the media room, muscles tightening as he heard another lower, softer sound. Steve carefully took one silent step back, then another, and again until he'd hightailed it all the way downstairs, face burning so hard he thought it might fall off. "I am such an idiot," he wheezed, standing in the kitchen entryway. "Stupid, stupid, _stupid_."

"Are you alright, Steven?"

Steve whipped his head around to see that Jarvis standing in the opposite doorway, his expression amused. "I thought you were on your way out," Steve croaked, pressing the back of his hand to his cheek.

"I forgot my phone," Jarvis replied, arching an eyebrow. "Is anything the matter?" he asked again, looking like he contained the secrets of the universe in his smile.

"No, I--" Steve swallowed tightly, "I was just leaving."

"I see." Jarvis smiled again. "Well, before you go, would you mind just washing the dishes for me? It completely slipped my mind and I must confess I'm running a bit late -- if they don't get done now, Anthony will most likely leave them to mold." Before Steve could open his mouth, Jarvis said, "Excellent! Thank you. Now I really have to be leaving, or Miss May will have my head."

Steve walked over to the sink, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously in the direction Jarvis had left. "These dishes aren't even dirty."

"I swear I heard something," Bruce hissed, hips spasming.

"Jarvis knows how to knock," Tony insisted.

"Jarvis also doesn't ring the doorbell," Bruce reminded him as he reluctantly sat up. "As much as I would love to sit here and continue to stroke your ego, we should see who's here."

"Is that what they're calling it nowadays?" Tony leered, however reluctantly followed suit. "If we go out there and no one's home, I'm going to bend you over the island in the kitchen and--"

"You say that like it's some sort of punishment," Bruce said with a little laugh. "Now straighten your shirt, you look homeless."

"Thanks, mom," Tony drawled, tugging down his tee and patting Bruce on the ass as he strode out. "Hel _lo_?" Tony called out. "Anybody home? Nobody's here, Bruce!"

Bruce rolled his eyes, already heading for the staircase. "Well, I'm hungry, so I'm going downstairs."

"You are, like, the least amount of fun," Tony whined after him.

"I told you someone was here," Bruce said suddenly, smacking Tony on the arm before gesturing to Steve's hunched form over the sink. "Steve! I didn't know you were coming over."

Steve slowly turned around, a bit of color still on his cheeks. He cleared his throat slightly. "Thought you guys could use the company," Steve said with a stiff smile. "Just because we're not going out to bars doesn't mean we still can't have our Friday night."

Bruce melted a bit at that and, judging by the soft exhale beside him, Tony did, as well. He smiled warmly. "That sounds great; what did you have in mind?"

"Chinese!" Tony interjected as he pulled out his cell and Steve seemed to snap out of his little funk.

"Chinese and movies sound good to me," Steve admitted slowly. "Are you sure you want me to be here, though? I was being kind of presumptuous just showing up."

Bruce clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't be silly; you're always welcome here."

Steve relaxed a bit more. "Thanks."

The doorbell rang again. Tony stared down at his phone suspiciously. "I literally just ordered, there's no way--" He trotted out of the kitchen and made his way to the front door. His eyebrow quirked up. "Petey?"

"You know," Peter started, shuffling around Tony and tossing his ratty backpack on the coatrack by the door, "if you're trying to keep a secret from someone, it's generally a good idea to let everyone else in on its super secret... secretness beforehand."

Tony said, "What."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Clint spilled the beans. So I took the liberty of instigating a family-friendly-super-awesome-Friday-night-party-type thing."

"Blame Bruce," Tony blurted immediately. "He did all the secret keeping."

"Yeah, okay, doesn't matter anymore," Peter said with a half-shrug, reaching up to unzip his backpack. He pulled out a stack of board games. 

Tony narrowed his eyes. "Are you kidding me with this shit? When's the last time anybody played regular, non-strip Twister?"

"Who said we weren't?" Peter grinned. He stuffed the boxes in Tony's unprepared arms and started making his way to the kitchen. "Man, am I starving."

"You are, officially, the weirdest goddamn kid I've ever met." Tony shook his head, following. "Ten years of teaching and _you_ get that award."

"Peter's here?" Bruce asked as they entered, Peter circling over to the fridge.

"Yeah, I--" The doorbell interrupted them once more. "Oh! That should be everyone else; I'll get it."

"Wait, you invited everyone over but me?" Steve asked, a little spark of hurt in him. Sure, he didn't know Peter very well, but...

Peter laughed. "Dude, you didn't answer your phone -- check your messages." He dashed out of the kitchen, mysteriously acquired sandwich in hand.

Puzzled, Steve pulled out his phone and, true to his word, there were three missed calls and five unread messages from a _P. Parker_. "Oh," he said dumbly. 

"On this most excellent occasion," they heard Thor boom from the front door, "I have brought over a game ensured to be of the highest caliber!"

"I should probably call back and add more food to the order," Tony muttered, phone already up to his ear.

"The Settlers of Catan?" Peter was squawking. "Is that even a real game?"

"Loki has ensured me that--"

"Oh, there goes my quiet Friday night," Bruce groaned to himself and Steve bit back a laugh.

***

The Settlers of Catan, and let nobody tell you any different, was officially the _worst_ game in the history of games ever ever _ever_.

"Oh, what's that?" Tony crowed, holding a thick stack of cards in front of his face. "You want some of my wood? How about you give me three of your sheep and two rocks?"

"That is _extortion_ ," Clint hissed, clutching his meager possessions to his chest.

"I am a _businessman_ ," Tony corrected. "Final offer, baby -- take it or leave it."

Clint, wobbly-lipped, handed over the five cards and took two wood cards in return. "Your sacrifice will not be in vain," he whispered to his former cards.

"I can't play this game anymore," Natasha announced, pushing her pieces away and standing up. Clint grabbed for them madly. "I can't. I'll go insane."

In the corner of the game room, Loki sat in an armchair, fingertips pressed together under his chin, face twisted in sinister glee.

"Seriously, where did you even _get_ this game?" Peter took a sip of his coke. "This can't be a real game; I refuse to believe it."

"This is the best thing I've ever seen in my life," Loki abruptly whispered, clapping his hands together. "The absolute best."

"They're--" Bruce exchanged a worried sort of look with Steve, "they're actually _worse_ sober than they are drunk." He shook his head minutely. "What have I done?"

"I do not understand the purpose of this game!" Thor exclaimed in frustration; his brows furrowed. "Is wealth not meant to be shared with your friends?"

"You all can go starve in your tiny, poorly built peasant huts for all I care," Tony declared with a cackle.

"All I wanted," Bruce continued softly, staring off into space, "was just a quiet Friday night. I thought it was finally happening." Bruce's eyes flicked back to Steve then and he blurted, "No, but you're absolutely fine, of course."

Steve grinned back at him. "Yeah, okay, I see how it is."

"Alright, losers, I'm officially bored of this game," Tony said as he stood, dusting off his pants. "I'm going downstairs."

"But we're not done!" Clint blurted out.

Tony rolled his eyes and stretched his spine. "There's no way you could ever hope to beat me; just accept it, Barton."

"Oh, bring me an eggroll," Bruce piped up, head swivelling over to Tony.

Tony laughed, patting Bruce on the head as he strolled past. "Sure thing, jellybean." 

Steve, very carefully, turned his head back towards Clint and Thor on the floor, who were still trying to figure out if it was worth it to finish playing.

Bruce caught the movement anyway. "So, I noticed you disappeared pretty quickly at lunchtime," he started conversationally. Steve's spine stiffened and Bruce sighed. "If you have feelings for Tony, why don't you just tell him?"

Steve whipped his head back around so fast, he thought he'd caught whiplash. "Excuse me?"

Bruce smiled easily. "Look, I know Tony can be... difficult to handle at the best of times, but--"

Steve cut him off with sharp, " _No_ ," and stood abruptly. Steve deliberately ignored the way all eyes turned to him as he stalked out, heading for the stairs.

" _Steve_?" Bruce called out, scrambling off the couch.

Tony was just leaving the kitchen when Steve made it to the foyer. "Steve?" he asked, setting his bag of food on a random table. "Hey, hey, where's the fire, Rogers?"

" _Don't_ ," Steve hissed, "talk to me right now."

Bruce was taking the steps two at a time trying to catch up. "Steve, what--?"

"I thought you were better than this," Steve said suddenly, digging under everyone else's things to get to his jacket. His cheeks burned. "I thought that--" Steve grit his teeth; his fingers brushed against the worn leather of his jacket and he snatched it up, shrugging into it.

"But what did I _do_?" Bruce asked him, eyes wide.

" _You_." Steve breathed in deep through his nose. "I am officially sick of whatever game you two are playing with me. In fact, I think it would be best for everyone involved if you two just... stop talking to me."

"Woah now, hey," Tony said and reached a hand out to grasp Steve's wrist. "How about we just calm down and--"

Steve shook his hand from Tony's grip and he turned back towards the front door. "That's funny, coming from you."

Tony's eyes narrowed and he snarled, "You are being unnecessarily dickish, Rogers."

"And _you_ ," Steve ground out, whirling back around to face Tony, "are a whore." Tony's expression twisted and his face went white with rage. His jaw clenched tightly and Steve prepared himself for whatever Tony was going to throw at him next, but it was Bruce who reacted first.

He grabbed ahold of Steve's jacket, white knuckled, and yanked Steve down so that they were nose to nose. "If I ever hear those words come out of your mouth again, I will put my fist through your face," Bruce growled.

Tony caught movement at the top of the stairs. "We have an audience," he sang under his breath, watching as Peter, Clint, and Thor dashed out of view. Tony was, in general, a very public sort of person.

Except when he wasn't.

"Get out," Bruce told Steve lowly as he released him, "of our house."

Steve left.

***

Steve stormed into his apartment, slammed the door behind him, and threw his things on the floor. He jerked at his shirt, one of the buttons catching on his nose; Steve growled and yanked at the button-up again, hurling it at the hamper by the bathroom door. The rest of his clothes quickly followed.

It wasn't until Steve was standing under the too-hot spray of the water that he managed to slowly unwind the tension in his spine. He smacked his fist against the tile before reaching for the shampoo, squirting it directly onto his scalp and scrubbing it in. Blindly, Steve set the bottle down beside him, but it clattered off the shelf and onto his foot. "Are you kidding me?" he shouted, twitching, and then screamed again when wayward streak of soap sunk into his eye.

"I hate everything," Steve muttered, rinsing as quickly as he could before twisting the the knobs off. He grabbed for his towel and nearly brought the rack with it. Steve grit his teeth and very slowly stepped out of the shower, drying himself off and letting the towel fall to the floor in a heap before he could break anything else.

Steve waited until he'd slipped into a clean undershirt and a pair of shorts before he called Bucky. "I hate--"

"Seriously, Rogers?" Bucky slipped in before Steve could finish. "What the hell happened with Stark this time?"

Steve frowned. "I do not always call you when Tony and I are fighting."

"Yes you _do_ ," Bucky moaned, and Steve heard the rustle of Bucky shuffling papers at (most likely, though he'd been known to do work on the floor) his desk. "Can we just skip the part where you bitch about how terrible he is and head straight to you telling me what he did now?"

"It's not just Tony," Steve muttered; he sensed more than heard Bucky's attention perking. "Bruce, he..." Steve sighed.

"Banner? What'd he do?"

Steve ran a hand over his face, falling backwards onto the bed. "I thought. They're together -- Tony and Bruce, I mean. I heard them." Bucky sucked in a tight breath. "And then he -- Bruce, I mean -- he," Steve's expression pained, "he told me I should tell Tony I have _feelings_ for him."

"What," Bucky hissed, "the fuck?"

Misery swelled low in Steve's gut, slipped into his chest, and squeezed. "I don't know, I just got so _mad_ I called Tony a whore and stormed out. I'm pretty sure neither of them want anything to do with me anymore, and right now? I am more than okay with that."

Bucky was silent for a few minutes, but Steve let him process; the other man wouldn't hang up on him in a situation like this. "Steve, are you sure you're not misinterpreting the situation? I mean, he and Banner are best buds, yeah, but Stark's got it _bad_ for you, buddy, even I know that."

"Bucky." Steve reached up to rub at his eyelids. "I know what I heard."

Bucky sighed. "Man, okay alright, so. What're ya gonna do?"

It was Steve's turn to be at a loss for words. "Sleep, I guess," he finally decided. "I'll call you later, okay?"

"Hey, man, Stark's an idiot and he's totally not good enough for you," Bucky declared. "He's got no idea what he's missing out on."

Steve let a small smile curl over his face. "Thanks Bucky."

"Night idiot," came the affectionate reply.

***

"Maybe we should go back--" Tony started, face still pinched and slightly pale.

"They know their way out if they want to leave," Bruce insisted, still ushering Tony back towards his room. "Come on, now."

"I'm so tired," Tony murmured, more to himself than Bruce, and Bruce nodded sadly.

"I know, Tony," he replied, voice soft. "Me too." He shut the door behind them with a click and half-led, half-dragged Tony over to the bed. "Okay, so," Bruce took a breath, "I told Steve that if he had feelings for you, he should tell you."

Tony's head jerked up to meet Bruce's eyes. " _What_?"

Bruce shrugged. "Possibly not the smartest thing I've ever done--" Tony snorted and Bruce smacked him lightly on the arm, "--but well, he looked miserable. I honestly have no idea why he got so upset."

"I don't know, maybe because we're fucking?" Tony muttered sullenly. "He strikes me as a one-man-man."

"I'm not the only one you've been sleeping with, mister," Bruce laughed; his cheeks lit up with a faint blush. "Steve doesn't know we're... does he?"

Tony shrugged. "I didn't tell him. It's not like we're trying to keep it a secret, though." He looked back at Bruce again. "Why are you pushing so hard with this Steve thing?"

Bruce leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Tony's. "I'm not... am I pushing you?" Tony made a vague noise and Bruce rolled his eyes. "That's not exactly helping me out here, Tony. Honestly, you two are giving me a headache, the way you keep tiptoeing around each other."

"Right, and that's totally got nothing to do with your hard-on for Steve." Tony felt the heat rise in Bruce's face again and he smirked, but the smile fell after a second. "He called me a whore."

Bruce actually growled again. "He's going to apologize to you for that."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Tony said with a little eyeroll. "I don't know, I kind of am a whore."

"Tony." Bruce snaked a hand up to caress Tony's jaw. "We talked about this a long time ago, remember?" Tony leaned into the touch and shuddered as if he were cold. Bruce pulled him into a hug. "Maybe... we should talk to Steve about this. All three of us together, in the same room, at the same time."

Tony made a face into Bruce's shoulder. "Steve is an asshole."

"So are you when you want to be," Bruce chided, and then added, "So am I, sometimes. Let's at least come clean and try to salvage your decade-long friendship before you two knuckleheads wreck it anymore."

"You're the one who said you'd put your fist through his face," Tony snorted. "Steve can suck my dick."

"That comes later, Tony," Bruce said, grinning devilishly. Tony pulled back with a startled laugh and Bruce kissed him quiet before he could say something stupid and oh-so-Tony.

***

Steve laid in the dark for a while, tossing, turning, trying to fall asleep. It was annoying and uncomfortable and each loud tick of his clock just made Steve want to scream. Just as he felt his mind begin to drift off, there was a loud rap on the door. Steve moaned his frustration to the ceiling. If it was Thor or Clint or _any_ of them, Steve was going to throw a fit. "I can't be mad for one darn minute without them meddling," he muttered, hauling himself out of bed and padding over to the door. He flipped the overhead lights on and Steve heard another, more forceful knock and sighed, "Coming, _coming_ , jeez."

"You are a dick," Tony said bluntly when Steve opened the door, "and I'm not a whore."

And just like that, Steve's hackles rose again. Tony turned as if to leave and Bruce appeared, spinning him around and marching the man inside. "Hi Steve," Bruce drawled, and Steve could still hear the barely-contained fury in his voice. "Mind if we come in?"

Steve frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. "Are you going to punch me?"

"Jury's still out," Tony snipped, striding past the blond and into his living area. He flopped onto the couch on sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

Steve was feeling particularly petty, so he snapped right back, "I didn't say you could--"

Bruce jerked a finger at the chair opposite the couch. "Sit. Now." Steve's mouth clacked shut in a sneer, but he went over and sat down, as well. Bruce took a seat opposite Tony, leaving a careful amount of space between them; Steve felt ill. "Before we do anything else," Bruce started slowly, "I want you to apologize to Tony."

"What?" Tony and Steve said in unison, Tony staring at Bruce dubiously.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his gaze carefully not leaving Steve's face. "I obviously instigated this whole argument and you lashed out at Tony for no reason. I want you to apologize or you can forget any hopes of having a civil conversation with me."

"You're the one who--" Steve clenched his hands into fists crossed his arms. "Fine. I'm--sorry, Tony."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, okay whatever." It was probably the best he was going to get out of Steve. Not that Tony was particularly spectacular at receiving any sort of apology from anyone, but.

"So," Bruce said with a roll of his eyes, smoothing his hands across his slacks (they were still wearing the same clothes as earlier, Steve noted, despite it being well after midnight), "it seems like there's been some sort of communication issues going on."

"You don't say?" Tony murmured snarkily on his side of the couch. Bruce glared and Tony went quiet again.

"Anyway," Bruce continued, turning back to Steve. "Why don't you start first?"

Steve stomped down the juvenile urge to kick them out and try to go back to sleep. He swallowed his anger from earlier and managed a gravelly, "Are you and Tony dating, Bruce?"

Bruce said, "Tony's my best friend," and Steve moved to get up and leave (his own apartment, how pathetic was that?), but Bruce held up a hand. "I'm not finished. Tony's my best friend, yes, but our... relationship isn't quite so simple or defined." Bruce felt Tony shift out of his sulk and turn to face him. Bruce folded his hands carefully in his lap, still not quite touching the other man. "You know that Tony and Pepper dated. You also know that it didn't end well."

"Bruce," Tony croaked.

"Do you want to do this or not, Tony?" Bruce asked; he finally reached out a hand out to Tony, who took it with a snort, but held on tight. The corner of Bruce's lip quirked. "I've never put any pressure on Tony about things we may or may not do in the bedroom. I've never told him to stop sleeping with other men or women -- I've only asked he use protection. I love Tony," Bruce squeezed Tony's hand again, "but I also know Tony."

"I've been told I could fill oceans with my commitment issues," Tony piped up, cracking a grin. He ran his free hand to his hair and sighed. "Look, I mean you -- you told me to stop hitting on you and I did, but I feel like I'm getting mixed signals from you, Rogers. Am I making that all up because I've hallucinated some weird shit before--"

Steve bit the bullet. "You're not. Um. Hallucinating. At least I don't think you are, I mean, Tony I -- you seriously don't get jealous, Bruce?" Steve turned to face the other man. 

Bruce bit his lip and grinned as if he were staring at a tiny, fluffy animal. "Jealousy's not really good for my blood pressure."

Steve looked back and forth between them; his shins bumped into the coffee table and Steve realized he'd stood and started moving closer. He blushed, but Bruce shook his head and tugged Steve down between them. It was snug and warm.

"Okay," Steve blurted, sitting squished between the two brunets. "So you and Tony are together, but you're not exclusive."

"Yeah, that's pretty much the sparknotes version," Tony agreed, knee jiggling beside Steve's. 

"And that works for you?" Steve wondered, head cocking to the side despite himself.

It was Bruce who spoke this time. "I've been in a poly-type relationship before," he admitted with a little shrug. "It's not as weird or far fetched as people make it out to be." At Steve's confused look, Bruce continued with, "Poly, as in many. A relationship that's broader than just two people. It's a bit more work, requires a lot of honesty," and Bruce reached around Steve then and swatted at Tony's ear, who snickered. Steve's neck burned at the accidental contact, "but it was probably one of the best relationships I've ever been in. Very rewarding."

"Wow, you should be the official spokesperson," Tony remarked with another laugh and Bruce, his arm still lying across the back of the couch, reached up and tugged sharply at the hair at the nape of Tony's neck. "Ow, buttercup."

"You are an absolute handful," Bruce told the other man. "I'm not even sure I could handle you all by myself."

Tony smirked. "You handled me pretty fine in the--"

"Still here!" Steve interjected, voice uncomfortably high.

"Sorry," Bruce chuckled. "Now, if I can say this again without everyone running off in huff, Steve," and his eyes were teasing, but Bruce very carefully kept his voice steady, "do you have feelings for Tony...?"

Steve stared down at the floor for a moment, at a loss for words. There was too much going on, a sort of sensory overload, and honestly, he wasn't sure he could handle it. It was like placing a very delicate, unbelievably precious sort of artifact in his oversized, clumsy hands that Steve sometimes felt he didn't have proper control of. 

"Steve," Tony whispered, breaking the tight silence, and Steve turned his head to face him. Tony licked his lips, a bit of a nervous twitch more than anything. "At the risk of sounding like a twelve-year-old girl--"

Steve kissed him, a soft pressure of lips on lips, one hand curling possessively around Tony's jaw. Behind them, Bruce's breath hitched. "Is this okay?" he asked when he pulled back.

Tony's tongue darted out to wet his lips again ( _damn it, Tony_ ) and he said, "You know, this would be the perfect time to mention that Bruce totally has a junior-high school girl crush on you, too--"

" _Tony_ ," Bruce hissed and Tony snarked cheekily back, "What? I thought this was honesty hour, _Bruce_."

Steve was staring at Bruce now, completely ignoring Tony's rambles. "You know, Bruce and I are sort of a package deal and can I mention how unbelievably _hot_ you two would look together because you would and that could open the doors to all sorts of amazing and kinky sex and--"

"Tony, I think you broke him," Bruce whispered and Steve blinked slowly.

"This is the strangest thing I've ever done," Steve whispered, leaning over and pressing his mouth against Bruce's.

"Wow, it's not even my birthday, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me I think, _christ_ \--"

"Tony," Bruce growled, reaching around Steve to swat at the other man. "Shut _up_."

"That is not fair, I saw him first," Tony sassed and Bruce waved a hand lazily, but pulled back from Steve. Tony's eyes glittered in the dim room and he leaned up against Steve's back, whispering conspiratorially, "So, who's the whore now, Steve?"

Steve jerked, a flush rising in his cheeks and Bruce huffed a tiny, amused sigh. 

"Is that out of your system your system now?" Bruce teased Tony, who just laughed and pressed closer to Steve so he could ruffle a hand in Bruce's curls.

Steve, feeling positively _dizzy_ , wondered then what the hell he'd just gotten himself into.


End file.
